


Goal Line

by TyReed



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Background Relationship: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Dorky Stiles Stilinksi, Jock Derek Hale, M/M, Making Out, Minor Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, casual nudity, everyone is human, football au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyReed/pseuds/TyReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing a bet with his best friend, super-dork Stiles Stilinksi is forced to play one semester of football for the Beacon Hills High School "Silver Wolves".  While reluctant, Stiles is never one to go back on a deal, and follows through with the bet.  After all, it's just for one season.  </p><p>The only problem?  </p><p>Stiles is apparently the best kicker the school (or state) has seen in over 50 years.  </p><p>With the town, the coaching staff, the school, and his team all cheering him on and giving him a circle of friends he'd never though possible before, how is Stiles going to fit in with this new crowd of people he'd always hated?  How is Stiles going to live through this season, the training, and is he going to be the player everyone thinks he can be?  What happens when the season is over, and Stiles can leave the team with the bet ended?</p><p>Though at the forefront of his mind, how is he supposed to keep his life-long crush on star Quarterback (and one of his newest friends), Derek Hale, in check?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Beacon Hills High School, a typical school just like any other in the country, bustled with students returning for the start of the school year in late August.  The town's weather, courtesy of northern California's colder than usual season, had turned chilly enough to warrant longer sleeves and jeans for the student body.

Entering the scarlet and silver themed school was sixteen year old Stiles Stilinski, a lanky teenager with a thin build, who adjusted his black rimmed glasses anxiously.  Across his shoulder was a leather messenger bag, which crossed over a bright red sweater-vest, and the bag which landed down on his khaki pants.  He ran his hands through his sandy brown hair, keeping his head down from the bustling student body, praying to avoid eye contact.

"Stiles, come on!  It's not that bad!" a man yelled not that far behind, snorting through his nose.

Stopping at the Sophomore hallway and in front of his locker, Stiles spun the combination lock.  He watched his best friend, Scott McCall, stand next to Stiles' locker and fiddle with his own lock.  Scott's muscular build, long black hair, and tanned features caught the eye of many that passed by them.  Then again, with Scott being the star of the Lacrosse team, it wasn't unusual for him to be the center of attention.

Stiles threw his lunch into his locker, slamming it shut instantly.  "Yes, it is very bad!  This is very very bad!  This is the opposite of good!  This is…  Terribad!" he fired back, huffing.

“Terribad?” Scott asked, with a cocked eyebrow.

“It’s both terrible and bad.  It’s not just terrible, and it’s not just bad.  It’s terribad!” Stiles grumbled, shaking his head incredulously.

"Dude, it's not the end of the world.  Really, this is sort of awesome, if you think about it!" Scott said, trying a meager smile.

Feeling his forehead twitch, Stiles slammed his head repeatedly against the locker.

“I’m on the football team, Scott!  Not just as a benched nerd, I’m on the FIRST STRING!  All of this is YOUR FAULT, you gigantic asshole!” Stiles sobbed horrendously.  

The whole situation had gone from bad to worse.  It all started with a bet that Stiles lost at the end of the Freshman school year with Scott.  One to always follow through with his bets, yet not eager to shell out $500, Stiles went with the alternative choice, and joined the Beacon Hills Football Team.  Because SuperDork Stiles Stilinski joining the State-Ranked Silver Wolves?  Yeah, that was punishment that made perfect sense for losing a massive bet.

So Stiles' summer had been spent running, weight training, and doing just about everything under the sun that he'd avoided his entire life.  Being around a lot of sweaty Alpha-Males who had crude humor, little modesty in the locker room, and were practically cavemen.  

All with Scott laughing on the other end of the field with the lacrosse players.  

The unexpected factor?  Well...

"STILINSKI!" a booming voice screeched.

Color drained from Stiles' face.  He could hear a whistle blowing in the back of his head, from the countless horrific memories that summer.  All the running, all the suicide drills, everything coming back in a pained daze.  All in that older, high-pitched male voice.

Turning around slowly, Stiles watched Coach Finstock trot up beside the Sophomore lockers.  The balding male, far past his prime (sporting a healthy stomach), with black hair sticking up in every direction was the coach for both Lacrosse and Football teams.  

To be truthful, everything was this man's fault just as much as Scott’s.

"You been jogging those legs?  Doing those warm ups like I talked to you about?" Coach Finstock asked, forcing several protein bars into Stiles' hands.  "Eating good?  Kid, you're amazing, but we get some muscle on you, get some workouts on your core and legs?  You'll be a goddamn star," Finstock said, slapping Stiles' on the shoulder and beaming proudly.

"Y...  Yeah," Stiles muttered, groaning mentally.

The unexpected factor of this bet from hell?  

According to Coach Finstock, and the rest of the coaching staff, Stiles was the single best kicker they'd seen at the school in over fifty years.  A "gift from God" or a "natural", as Finstock put it.  Apparently kicking and scoring goals at the fortty to fifty yard line with about an 80% accuracy was something remarkable.  Who knew?  Stiles had just tried to aim as best he could, and he must have had good instincts, and pretty good legs with it.  Screw his dad's genes, and the long line of athletes.

Which, of course Finstock had to spout off to the local newspaper.  "With Hale, Stilinski, Argent, Lahey, Whittemore, our defensive line, and the rest of our reserve players, we're going to be the best team in the conference!" he'd said.    So naturally, the entire school, town, and county now knew that Stiles was some sort of football prodigy.  Meaning that this one season bet was going out of control, and FAST.

Wonderful.  Just wonderful.

"Great!" Finstock exclaimed, slapping Stiles on the back again.  He focused his attention straight at Stiles' eyes.  "Eat a big lunch, Stilinski.  Order double and eat EVERYTHING, weight training today at practice, gotta build this muscle up!" he yelled, gently pinching Stiles' skinny arms.  "We'll work on your kicking too later this week, we’ve got a few weeks before the first game in the season, but you're solid on that already!" he said, excitedly.

Scott snickered behind Finstock, and Stiles shot his friend an angry, murderous glare.

"Yes, sir," Stiles muttered, attempting a feigned smile.  

Sighing in abject joy, Finstock nodded.  "God, this is a good year to be alive...  I can smell the playoffs already!  I can TASTE the state!  I can feel the tingling in my pants of the potential for all star players!” he said, practically floating on air as he made his way down the hallway, and off to the gymnasium for PE classes.

Stiles leaned against his locker, looking at the disgusting protein bars he'd been eating since the summer.  Between Finstock forcing them down his throat, and his father practically cooking steak for every meal of the day, he'd already put on about 10 pounds since early June.  Sure, they claimed it was "muscle", but Stiles couldn't see any remarkable improvement.  Everyone else did, however.  It's all everyone talked about these days with him.

"Dude, seriously eat those, though.  You do look really good, man, a lot healthier.  Plus, this is all sort of awesome, right?  I mean, you were always complaining about never having anything to do on the weekends since Allison and I hooked up, and you're always bitching about not having more friends!  Now you've got football and a team to do shit with!" Scott offered sympathetically.

Letting out a mixture between a sob and laugh, Stiles just shook his head as he and Scott started walking to homeroom Biology.  

"Scott, do you really think I'm ever going to have a chance to fit in with a bunch of jocks?  Jocks that I'm going to be spending WAY too much time around?!  The "no-homo" bros that slap each other on the ass and think it's a sign of respect?  The neanderthals that don't even try in class, and act like morons all the time?  I'm a super dork, smart, and I'm gay.  That's like the OPPOSITE of jocky.  They will eat me ALIVE the first time I miss a kick in a game, and I will, because like hell are these legs going to be consistent!" Stiles whined, pointing to his feet.  Practice was one thing. Being in a game?  Totally different ball game, literally.

Scott rolled his eyes.  "Dude, Danny's on the lacrosse team, and he's gay.  Nobody gives a shit.  It's just the old farts and the kids they brainwashed who give a shit about being gay or straight," he said, putting his arm around Stiles' shoulder.  "Plus, there's tons of super dorks in lacrosse, and I'm sure there's plenty in football too.  Ethan and I totally bond over Halo and Final Fantasy while in the locker rooms, and Aiden's got this weird obsession with Magic the Gathering. They're also not morons, I play lacrosse, and I've got a close to perfect GPA.  Sports aren't just a bunch of Alpha Males anymore, you know.  That’s just shit you see in sitcoms, and it's a stereotype," he explained.

Stiles pouted, folding his arms as they separated from one and other.  They entered the biology classroom, each taking a seat next to one and other in the far back, sitting at one of the many lab tables.  "I still hate this...  Seriously, out of everything you could have made me do after losing that stupid bet, you pick this?!  Why?!  Why do you hate me?!" he exclaimed wildly.

"Dude, it's not that bad, seriously," Scott said, as he adjusted to a comfortable sitting arrangement.  He snagged his Biology book and began writing his name for his take-home copy.  "I just thought it'd be cool if you tried to...  Come out of your shell a little bit?  I mean, I was just like you when mom made me take up lacrosse freshman year.  I was pissed off, angry, and just wanted to stay in my room and play video games all the time.  But everything turned out awesome in the end!  I made friends, I had fun playing the game, and it was nice to have something to do like that.  Seriously, playing a team sport will get you a bunch of friends you'd never think of having before," he said, glancing up to his friend.

Stiles just shook his head, taking his turn to sign his own Biology book.  "Yeah, but you're you.  You've always been the kind of guy who everyone would like, dork or not.  Me?  I'm sarcastic, annoying, and everyone hates me for having unpopular opinions.  Believe me, I'd be getting picked on and made fun of already today if it hadn't come out that I could kick a dead pig's skin longer than the average athlete," he grumbled.

"See, another positive!  You get a chance to have everyone fuck off and leave you alone!" Scott said, with a giant smile.

"Shut up," Stiles said, groaning.  He laid his head down on his book, attempting to force down the protein bar that sat uneaten in his hand.  Between crunches, Stiles continued his grunts and groans of pity.  "Besides...  You KNOW that "you know who" is on the team.  Do you know what it does to me to see him half naked on a regular basis now?!" he whispered fervently.

THAT, of all things was the worst problem.  Seeing HIM in the locker rooms?  Seeing HIM shirtless on a daily basis?  Seeing HIM every day?  Sexual frustration had become an all time high in Stiles’ eyes.

Scott rolled his eyes.  "Again, I'd think that was a positive," he offered.

"No it's not!" Stiles said, sitting upright and forcing the last of his bar of shitty protein candy down his throat.  "Do you know what it's like having the guy you've been crushing on since kindergarten be up in your face all the-"

"Morning, Stilinski," a deep voice said.

Squawking, Stiles nearly leapt out of his chair.  

To his left, Stiles watched as wall-of-muscle and Star Quarterback of the Silver Wolves, Derek Hale, take a seat next to him in the back row with a couple of the other football players, who gave Stiles a friendly hello as well.  

Standing at an absurd height that towered over just about everyone in the school, with sleek spiky black hair, Derek sported the kind of chiseled face that would make even God take a day off to stand back and admire the regal beauty.  Wearing his scarlet Letterman jacket, with the prominent "Hale 14" emblazoned on the back, Derek threw down his ratty backpack on the ground, and plopped right next to Stiles.  

"Whoa...  Lay off on the coffee, Stilinski.  You’re so jumpy all the the time," Derek joked, with a warm chuckle that sent sparks fluttering down Stiles' body.  He then slapped Stiles’ shoulder.  “Dude, you good at Biology?  Math and English, I can do okay with, but this science shit it beyond me.  I could seriously use some help.  Last year, I barely got out of physical science with a C, and my dad nearly killed me,” he exclaimed.

As Stiles settled down, he stared at the real problem that all of this football nonsense had generated.

Which was his gigantic crush on Derek Hale, the team's Quarterback, and Stiles' desire to smash his face against Derek's repeatedly.

“Ye…  Yeah, I’m pretty good at science.  I could help you out some,” Stiles nodded, averting his eyes from Derek’s flawlessly perfect aquamarine eyes.

“Sweet!  You’re awesome, Stilinski.  Coach schedules study sessions after school sometimes, to keep our grades up.  You and me?  We're study buddies, so don't let any of the other assholes on the team snag you!” Derek exclaimed.

Stiles groaned the instant Derek turned away, and immediately slapped Scott on the back of the head as hard as he could muster with his wimpy arms.

 

+++++

 

As a member of the football team (ugh), Stiles now attended 5th Period Athletics, out in the football field across from the high school.  Why anyone thought having football practice right after lunch was a good idea was a great concern, but far beyond Stiles' priority thoughts that day.

No, the mile run was biting Stiles in the ass.  Even after two months of running a mile several days a week on the track around the football field, Stiles still hated the idea with a burning passion.  He also swore the laps they ran on the scarlet red track was longer than a mile, it HAD to be.  Finstock was a lying bastard, and Stiles would measure the first chance he got.

In the far back of the running pack with the defensive linemen and most of the freshman as the last ones on the track, Stiles could feel sweat dripping off his body in droves.  His PE t-shirt and knit shorts were soaked to the bone, and his hair was a mess.  No way he would be able to get away without showering, and that was a whole extra nightmare to think about.

 _"Just one season and I'm done!  Just one season and I'm done!  Just one season and I'm done!"_ Stiles chanted in his head, like a mantra to help get him through this darkest hour of his life.

Turning the last corner, Stiles nearly sobbed at the oncoming finish line, where the faster members of the football team were already laid out, recuperating from the run.  

After he crossed the finish line, Stiles promptly fell onto the grass of the football field, huffing and puffing loudly, and not really caring who saw.  Whining, Stiles wondered if he could sleep through his last two classes of the day.

"Hey, he made it!" a woman exclaimed.

"He even beat the freshman this time," Derek admitted, proudly.

Gently opening his eyes, Stiles spotted Derek and Allison Argent standing over him.  Ignoring the fact that Derek was shirtless (again) and showing off his masterful physique, Stiles tried to focus more on Allison, the team's star wide receiver.  The tall brunette with a strong figure and killer legs could outrun, outlast, and outsmart anyone on the football field.  If Derek could get a pass to her, she was GONE, and nobody had a chance to catch up with her.  Years of gymnastics also added to her finesse, and she wasn’t above doing ridiculous maneuvers to get other players out of her way.

"Shaddup, the most exercise I've ever done in my life is playing Wii Bowling," Stiles whined.

Allison and Derek both chuckled, taking seats next to Stiles, as they both also cooled down and caught their breath.

"Well, you're getting better!  Remember the first day of hell week?  You could barely finish a mile, and now you're keeping up with the team!  That’s a 50% improvement!" Allison offered, giving Stiles a thumbs up.

Derek nodded.  "You're bulking up, too.  Lemme guess, Finstock is shoving protein bars down your throat, and gave your folks the "meat meat meat" diet?" he asked.

Cocking an eyebrow, Stiles turned his head to Derek.  He tried to avert his gaze from those flawless pecs, dark tanned skin, and perky nipples, and kept his eyes level.  "Are you psychic?" he asked.

With a laugh, Derek shook his head.  "Nah, he did the same thing with me freshman year when I grew a foot and grew out a lot of muscles from my weightlifting routine.  My folks made me eggs, chicken, and beef every meal for about a year, and Finstock was shoving protein bars and bottled water down my throat every chance he got," he said, rather fondly.

"Ditto.  Though I got it worse than EITHER of you, because I had to do extra running with the cross country team too, you big babies!  Suck it up," Allison said, raising up a hand.

Stiles gulped.  He was already jogging and walking on weekends, he couldn't imagine doing cross country on top of it.

"Though it's a good sign that he cares so much about you.  Coach has a thing for taking players with potential under his wing.  Thank God you're his pet project this year.  If I had to eat another one of those candy bars from hell, I'd puke," Derek said,

"Huh..." Stiles said, dropping his head.  

A player with potential?  Great...  He could already feel the team and Coach Finstock's claws digging into him, and a fight coming when he did drop off the team come December.  

"ALRIGHT LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND THOSE WHOM IDENTIFY IN BETWEEN, CRAM IT AND LISTEN UP!" Finstock yelled, blowing a loud whistle that made the entire team jump up, covering their ears in annoyance.

Stiles, Derek, and Allison stood up, watching Finstock as he stood in the middle of the team, most of which were still sitting and recovering from their run.

Finstock put both hands on his hips, and had a beaming smile that looked unnatural on the normally anxiety-ridden coach.  Even Derek and Allison seemed to do a double take on the gleaming light that seemed to radiate off Finstock.

"First in-school practice of the season!  Running is out of the way, you're all pumped up and high on adrenaline, so it's time to get to work, and boy, do we have work to do!" Finstock yelled, taking in a deep breath and laughing loudly into the sky.  "Kiddos, we've got ourselves one of the best teams this school has ever seen, and that this state has DREAMED of.  Our defensive line is unstoppable, and stronger than God and all his angels!" he said, signaling to the gaggle of massive students all gathered behind him.

Stiles knew most of the defensive line.  They had the tendency to be the ones who gave him a hard time during middle school (though not anymore, since summer practice), except for their ringleader, Vernon Boyd (JUST "Boyd", Stiles learned that mistake the hard way).  The bulky male, just a few inches shy of Derek's height, was a soft spoken, shy individual, but a downright monster when it came to football.  Stiles had seen firsthand how strong this guy was during summer camp, when Boyd scrimmaged against the rest of the defensive line.  Boyd could handle two men all on his own, with great ease.  As a kicker during punts in scrimmages, Stiles always felt secure with Boyd keeping his scrawny ass safe.

Finstock applauded the defensive line, before turning to a pair of lean, muscular men, with fair skin, shirtless and showing off their chiseled, sweaty abdomens.  "We've got running backs who aren't scared to get hit, and can plow through and get us the yards we need for a first down!  Whittemore, Lahey, you are the best early Christmas presents I've ever gotten!" he exclaimed.

The two men exchanged a quirky smirk, fist bumping each other.

Stiles knew the both of them pretty well, and couldn't help but smile for their success.

Jackson Whittemore had been his and Scott's friend since elementary school, and the adopted son of the Whittemore Family, two very successful lawyers in the region.  High fashion, styled blonde hair, and always checking every mirror that came his way, Jackson was hands down the most attractive guy in the school, always in some kind of relationship with anyone (male or female).  While a douchey kind of friend that ditched Stiles and Scott the first chance he found popularity on the football team, he still managed to hang out with them on weekends that didn't have some sort of bitching party.

The other, Isaac Lahey, was a little shorter and smaller in stature than Jackson, with curly brown hair, and a baby face that had all of the girls chasing after him constantly.  This success in football, and seeing that smile was exactly what the poor kid deserved.  After being abused by his single father for thirteen years, Isaac had been pulled out of that terrible situation, and was now living with the Whittemores as a foster child, and Jackson’s brother.  Which, oddly enough, was probably the best thing to ever happen.  The douchiness of Jackson had rubbed off on Isaac, and let the previously shy and reserved kid, allowed him to become a confident, sarcastic ball of piss and vinegar who took nobody’s shit.

Finstock moved over to Allison and Derek, wiping away an imaginary tear.

"Hale and Argent, you are the best duo I've had the pleasure of coaching.  Hale's got one hell of an arm and instincts, and Argent can run circles around anyone any day of the week!  Put 'em together, and we've got a passing game that college teams DREAM of!" Finstock said, clasping his hands on Allison and Derek's shoulders.

Derek and Allison high-fived, while the rest of the team began hooting eagerly.  Stiles couldn't blame the eagerness.  Both Derek and Allison had been featured in sports periodicals in the state and county, and the local newspaper's sports section for the season had them as the Pre-Season MVPs.  The duo had proven themselves their freshman year during some of the second string games, and with another summer, more muscle, and more training, they were the clear school celebrities on the team.

Groaning mentally, Stiles felt his blood run cold as Finstock came to him, hugging Stiles from behind and letting out a giddy squeal.  "And now we have Stilinski!  We have a kicker that can aim!  We have a kicker who can kick field goals!  We have a kicker that can actually punt more than ten feet!  I...  I don't know what I did to deserve you and your miracle feet, but THANK YOU!" he said, tightening his hug.

Stiles felt his face flush as the rest of the team cheered just about as loudly for him as they'd done for Derek and Allison.  Then he practically died when Derek wolf-whistled for his sake, and clapping louder than anyone else.

Patting Stiles on the back one last time, Finstock turned to the gaggle of students all huddled together at the end.  They were the freshman, second string, and third string players.  All in all, the Beacon Hills football team had about 40 players.  Of those forty, only 22-30 of them had hopes of serious playing time.  

Not that any of them looked any less eager, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile as Finstock turned to the reserve players.  Stiles had been surprised at how supportive Finstock was to EVERYONE, and not just his "star" players.

"The rest of you?  You've all got the potential to kick these guys off their pedestals, and trust me!" he said, shooting a glare at the first stringers.  "I am an equal opportunity ass kicker.  These first stringers start to slack, and I promise, their place can be yours!  I don't have pampered superstars on my team, EVERYONE is replaceable!  I’m not some panzy-ass coach who relies on one or two players, we need the entire goddamn team to make this work!” he said loudly, turning back to his other players.  "With hard work, dedication, and getting off your lazy asses like these guys do, and putting in some effort, you're going to get some play time!  If you don't?  Well, then bring a pillow, because your ass is on the bench, and the benches are cold and hard!!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.  "NOW, with that in mind, I want the defensive line out here today running drills with the assistant coaches!  Offensive line and Stilinski, you're inside on weights!  The coaches and I are watching, so WORK IT!" he screamed, blowing into his whistle and clapping his hands repeatedly.  "Move it, move it, move it!" he screeched.

The team scrambled, breaking off into the two parties.  

Stiles took a deep breath, dreading the weights.  He wasn't like the rest of the team, who'd had at least a few years of weight training under their belt.  The "newbie" was at a very low weight threshold.  Even the thinner members of the team could bench a hundred or more pounds heavier than Stiles.

Yet, that fear abated some, feeling Derek throw his arm around Stiles' shoulder.

"Come on Stilinski, let's hit the weights!  I'll spot you the first bit, and you can go over that crap we had to listen to in first period!  Hell, if you’d like, my dad’s got a weight room at my house, and we can do more of that this weekend!  Seriously, I can help you bulk up by the end of the season, no problem," Derek said warmly, as he guided Stiles off to the combined locker and weight room at the end of the football field.

Stiles flushed.  "S..  Sure!  That sounds great!" he admitted, laughing nervously.  Too stunned to realize that he’d just agreed for weekend plans with Derek Hale, he instead tried to will down Lil’ Stilinski, who began to twitch from Derek’s rough arm embracing him.  

At that moment, Stiles cursed whoever thought having knit short as PE attire should be shot.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"14....15...16...  Come on Stilinski!" Derek yelled.

Whining loudly, Stiles wanted to collapse on the spot.  After his mile run, going on the leg press, the barbell bench, and the leg extensions, Stiles had been directed to the Squat Machine.  With a barbell on his shoulders and his back straight, Stiles had been squatting repeatedly for his weight workout.  His goal was 4 sets, each set being of 20-15 squats if he could manage it.  

Just on his second set, and Stiles could feel the burn in his legs.  He stood back up, with the barbell on his shoulders, and taking a deep breath in and out.  

"Don't quit!  Come on, you can do it!  You've come so far, you can do more than this, I've seen you!" Derek said again, watching Stiles with earnest eyes.

Gulping, Stiles felt his chest hammer.  Doing his best not to appear wimpy in front of sexy Hale, Stiles squatted up and down four more times (taking a little longer than was probably acceptable), before finally locking the machine back into place, and stepping out from under it for a rest.

"Told you.  Dude, you're rocking this," Derek said, patting Stiles on the shoulder.  

Stiles gently massaged his thighs and knees, which had a low burn in them.  Not exactly pain, but certainly a discomforting experience.

While Stiles took a breather, he watched Derek add on a tremendous amount of weight to the barbell, putting Stiles' measly weight to shame.  

"Yeah, I'm totally "rocking it"," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

The quarterback stepped into the machine, and began doing his third set, squatting with ease, but still managing a small struggle to come up.  With each squat, his face reddened, but he kept a strong smile.  "Stilinski, everyone starts somewhere.  In junior high, that's where I started when I started lifting.  Seriously, you're doing good!  Every week you're adding more weight, and that's amazing," he said supportively.

Stiles managed a weak smirk.  A lot of people, including Coach Finstock, had repeated that same statement.  Honestly, Stiles didn't buy it.  They were probably just attempting to stroke his ego so he wouldn't quit.

"Damn, Hale, you squatting that much!?  The fuck?  That's like twenty pounds more than you usually do!" Jackson yelled.

Turning his head, Stiles watched a shirtless Jackson step away from the barbell bench, wiping his chest and head with a towel.  

Derek laughed quietly, on the last patch of his set.  "Gotta get better somehow," he answered.

Jackson smirked, turning to Stiles, then back to Derek.  "Uh huh...  Showing off for Stilinski is more like it," he muttered under his breath, with a colorful grin.  Wrapping the towel over his shoulders, Jackson folded his arms and turned to Stiles.  "So...  I'm seriously surprised you haven't quit.  I mean, don't you have like 20,000 Steam games to be playing right now?  Or some Netflix documentary to be watching?" he asked.

"Shut up, Jackson," Stiles said, folding his own arms and looking away.

Not that Jackson was wrong.  

All the football crap over the summer, and now with Friday night games, and after school workouts (that his Dad ALWAYS made sure he did), his gaming and movie time was down to just a couple of hours a night.  Hell, most nights he was too tired to even bother with playing games or watching movies.  Now with homework on top of all of that, and studying for tests?  All of it was going to suck, big time.

Finishing his set, Derek locked the machine into place, and smiled.  "Alright, your go, Stiles!  Let's get this last one done, and then-"

A wailing whistle echoed in the locker room, and the three of them all flinched in response, covering their ears.

Finstock stood at the end of the locker room, banging his hand against one of his filing cabinets.  "Hit the showers!  Class is over in 25, offense is cleaning up first today!  Be in and out in ten, defense needs to shower too!  Allison, the neutral shower is open in the trainer's office!" he yelled.

The twenty or so offensive players hustled into the locker room, with Stiles trailing in the back.  He gulped, and took a deep breath, trying to ready himself for what he'd been dreading since Summer Practice began.

Deciding to just get it over with, Stiles finally just made his way inside the red and silver tiled locker room.  Which, was about what he expected to see.

Naked guys, jockstraps, bare asses, and an overabundance of Axe products being pulled out from lockers.  Because, of course, nobody had any issues with nudity in sports.  A phenomenon he'd never be able to understand.

Making a beeline for his locker, Stiles snagged his necessities.  His school clothes, his toiletries, and a towel.

Thanking God that a few of the showers were in stalls that could be locked and far away from the group showers, he reached one of the few stalls that were unoccupied.  He bypassing the group showers that a majority of the team were standing under.  Stepping inside the stall, Stiles locked the door behind him, turned on the hot water, and took a deep breath.

 _"There.  See?  Not too bad!  There was no naked Derek Hale to be seen, and no awkward boners!  It's a win-win!"_ Stiles thought to himself.

Stripping down, Stiles tossed his dirty clothes into the corner, and stepped under the steaming warm water.  Stiles sighed dreamily, with the warm water feeling amazing on his sore muscles.

"...On Wednesday when we hit the weight room again, you should probably add about five pounds since you've been at that weight for a week.  Ten if you're feeling adventurous!" Derek asked.

Stiles felt his eyes blow out, turning his head hesitantly to the right.  Peeking just over the stall was Derek's hairline, being drenched in hot water, with white suds dancing out of them.  He spotted Derek's muscular arms rinsing out the shampoo from his head, but not much else.  While the dividers might have hidden the fact, the reality of the matter is that Derek was showering, completely naked, right next to him, with only a thin piece of fake wood separating them.

"I uh...  Haha...." Stiles managed to mutter, with his brain on temporary vacation.  

A loud squawk came from the shower area, followed by a loud set of laughter from the rest of the guys on the team.

Derek's hairline turned, and Stiles could see the natural spikiness beginning to take form.  "Huh?  Sorry, didn't hear you...  Someone's being a dumbass in the showers," he said, with disdain in his voice.

Shaking off the nervous energy, Stiles tried to finish showering as quickly as possible, before finally shutting off the water and aiming for his towel.  

"I uh...  I mean, sure!  Five pounds sounds good...  I'm still, you know, kind of sort of wimpy..." Stiles admitted, laughing to himself.

Derek nodded.  "Cool!  Oh, and that offer to help you out on weekends stands.  Boyd really helped me out when I first got started on weight training, and it's good to have someone who's got your backside.  Back!  I mean, Back!" he explained, coughed loudly in the other stall.

"I uh...  Yeah...  That'd be great!" Stiles said, suddenly picturing himself in Derek's house.  Weight training.  With shirtless Derek.  Alone.

Stiles shook that thought off immediately, as Lil' Stilinski started twitching.  

"Cool, cool.  I mean, we've got a week or two before the first game, so we could totally get in some more training.  Never hurts!" Derek said.

Nodding, Stiles shoved his half-dried body into his clean clothes.  He picked up his dirty gym clothes, and quickly exited the shower stall, fully dressed and with a mess of wet hair.  As he attempted to make a break for the lockers, grab his bags, and make a quick exit, Stiles stalled with Derek stepping outside of the shower in just a thin towel covering his waistline.  Derek's "V" shape was well defined, and the crack of his chiseled ass was visible as he walked in front of Stiles, strutting casually to his locker.

Sometimes, life was just unfair, giving Stiles an unobtainable image he'd never be able to unsee as long as he lived.

Stiles forced himself to his locker, and refused to turn around when he heard Derek's towel fall to the floor.  He focused on getting his school bag, and throwing his PE attire into his sports bag for laundry.  He ran a brush through his hair, praying it would dry quickly on its own.

"So, Stilinski, what do you have for sixth period?" Derek asked, as he pulled on his underwear and jeans.

Averting his eyes, Stiles cleared his throat.  "I uh...  I've got AP Statistics," he answered.

"Seriously?" Derek said, spinning around and staring at Stiles incredulously.  

Stiles  nodded, peeking around and sighing in relief as he saw Derek finally dressed.  "Yeah, I've always been good with math and science.  I've got Chemistry seventh period too, so I can take it early.  Then I'll do AP Chem or AP Bio next year, maybe," he explained.

With his jaw dropped, Derek shook his head.  "Damn, Stilinski, you're impressive.  Smart and athletic?  Shit, that's just not fair!" he exclaimed, slapping Stiles firmly on the shoulder, and laughing.

Nervously laughing along, Stiles watched as the defensive line piled in, stripping out of their clothes and screaming for the offensive line  to get out.  Yet another parade that Stiles averted his eyes from.

"I uh...  I'm going to get going, my class is all the way across the school," Stiles said.

Derek nodded.  "Cool.  Well, I'll see you later, Stilinski," he said, reluctantly taking away  his hand.

"See you," Stiles said, nodding politely as he made a swift exit from the locker room, and off to his next class.

Which left Derek in the locker room, still holding his hand up and waving goodbye to Stiles, completely shirtless.  His faint smile grew and grew as Stiles made his escape, until he looked dreamy and distant, on cloud nine.

A hand waved in front of Derek's face, followed by Isaac snorting.  

"He's gone.  Stilinski broke his brain again!  We've seriously got to keep the two apart on Friday nights, or Derek will throw the ball to the other team," Isaac said, laughing vividly.

Derek snapped back to reality, shoving Isaac away, and returning to his locker to finish changing.

Jackson, joining the two, sighed loudly.  "When are you going to grow a pair and ask him out?  Seriously, this is just PAINFUL to watch," he said, pulling up his sleek jeans and zipping them up.

"Shut up!" Derek spat, flushing in a vivid red.

Laughing, Isaac finished drying his hair, pulling on his long-sleeved shirt.  "Yeah, seriously, this is just sad.  You've had a crush on Stiles since how long?  Kindergarten?  Quit being a wuss and ask him out!" he exclaimed.

Derek shook his head, shoving his t-shirt over his chest.  "No way in hell would someone like Stilinski want someone like me.  I'm a dumb jock, and he's a freaking genius who's going to be ripped out of his mind in a couple of months.  Smart AND sexy, he'll be beating everyone off with a stick!  Besides, who even knows if he's gay or bi?  He's never dated anyone!  What if I asked him out, he freaked out, didn't want to be around me, and quit the team!?  Then I'd never get to see him!" he said, huffing sadly as he snagged his Letterman jacket and threw it over his massive shoulders.

"So you're just going to pine like a moron, instead of putting on your big boy undies and not being an idiot?" Jackson asked, carefully styling his hair in the mirror shoved in his locker, and using far too much product than was probably safe.

Rolling his eyes, Derek sighed, grabby his rough backpack from his locker and slinging it over his shoulder.  "Says the asshole who can't ask out Lydia Martin without pissing himself," he said, leaving his friends behind as he too made an exit out of the locker room.

"HEY!" Jackson yelled angrily.

Isaac snickered off in the corner..

 

+++++

 

Much to Stiles' dismay, his life became painfully routine.  It also became, quite literally, a painful routine.

Waking up for school, getting dressed, eat the egg and meat breakfast from hell (courtesy of Papa Stilinski), school, jogging after school, homework, all-meat dinners (another big thank you to Papa Stilinski), and with just enough time for Stiles to fall into bed and drift asleep from exhaustion.  He'd never had this much activity going on in his life, and it was killing him.

Which left only the weekends and Friday nights to himself.  Stiles still hadn't taken up Derek's weekend workout offer, with lousy excuses of family events or homework to keep what little bastion of free time he had left open.

Unfortunately, that little bastion of freedom came to a screeching halt as the first game of the season was upon them, and hell took its place that Friday night.  

Overzealous parents and students packed the bleachers to their capacity at the BHHS Football Field, all wearing some form of school spirited clothing, and screaming their lungs out as Stiles and the rest of the Silver Wolves came running onto the field from the locker room, as the band played their school's fight song.  With the first game of the season, Finstock's bragging, and the local news outlet predicting a flawless season, there wasn't a single parent or child from Beacon Hills not in attendance that night.  They'd even turned on the new sound system, playing Eye of the Tiger and other Jock Jams that were supposed to pump everyone up.

Groaning at the bulky padding and helmet he was forced into wearing, Stiles ran beside Derek and Jackson, keeping his head down and praying the embarrassment didn't come.  The cherry on top of the hell sundae.

"I LOVE YOU STILES!  GO BABY, YOU CAN DO IT!" Claudia Stilinski, a thin woman with cascading brown hair, screeched at the top of her lungs, holding up a massive bedazzled poster board, with the rest of the team moms going just as overboard for their own kids.  Though, by far, Claudia was the clear runner on the loudest, just in front of Talia Hale and Kelly Whittemore.  

"GIVE 'EM HELL!" John Stilinski yelled, clapping loudly and hooting with the team dads, all wearing team hoodies (save for Stiles's father, the Sheriff, who'd come in his full cop attire for the event, coming straight after work).  The greying male with stressed, wrinkled features seemed to explode into a youthful joy that took years off his life.

"Kill me now," Stiles begged some otherworldly power.  Goddamn cherry on top.

The cheerleaders and band kept the crowd's spirits high, as Finstock gathered all of the players on the sidelines.  Time was short, but Finstock slapped his hand against his clipboard, gathering everyone's attention.

"OKAY YOUNG INDIVIDUALS BETWEEN THE AGES OF 14 AND 18, LISTEN UP!" Finstock yelled, shushing the excited chatter between everyone.  Stiles glanced up, gulping loudly as he was handed his kick-stand for his part at the start of the game.  Since they'd lost the toss, the White Bisons, their opponent for the first game, would have first possession.

Sucking in a deep breath of air as he adjusted his cap, Finstock exhaled loudly.  "Smell that?  That is the scent of an overhyped crowd, cheering you all on and expecting a victory.  That is the smell of every single member of the community having faith in you kids to do your best, and bring a little pride to this town!  That is the smell of hope!  Hope that for one year, ol' Bobby Finstock doesn't screw up and make the school of laughing stock!  That is the smell of my Christmas Bonus, riding on the wind!" he said, complete with animated hand gestures.

Stiles sighed.  Yet another "inspirational" speech by Bobby Finstock.  At least this time he wasn't plagiarizing Independence Day.

Coach Finstock took a deep breath again, exhaling, and putting on a smile.  "People just think this is a game, but for a lot of you guys, this is serious business.  Scholarships, futures, careers, and friendships are going to be forged on this battlefield.  Sure, there's fun involved too, but there's serious shit to think about.  So when you go out there?" he said, putting the whistle up to his lips, hovering them quietly.  "Give it your goddamn all!  Have fun!  Kick some ass, and be proud of yourselves!" he roared, blaring the whistle loudly in his mouth, to a roaring set of players.

Stiles lowered his head.   _"Or go out there and keep your end of a shitty bet,"_ he thought to himself quietly.

Knocked out of his funk, Stiles felt Finstock come up beside him, clasping both hands on the young man's shoulders.  "Stilinski, you ready for kickoff?  First play of the season, so we've got to show them we mean business!" he exclaimed.

Nodding, Stiles cleared his throat.  "Uh...  Yeah...  Is this the one where I run and kick it on the holding thingy, or the one where I run and kick it while someone holds the ball for me?" Stiles whispered.

Finstock blinked, his face going pale (and potentially having a mild stroke), but smiling through the pain, and lowering his head ever so slightly.  "Yes, son...  This is the one where you run and kick it on the holding thingy..." he said quietly, before patting Stiles on the shoulderpads.  "Stilinski?  I'm getting you a book on football to read, okay?  You're going to study it and write me a report or some shit.  Extra credit!  Whatever!  Jesus Christ," he said, whimpering just a tad at the end, as he pushed Stiles off to the field.

Jogging off to the field, Stiles joined the rest of his team as they all lined up on their side of the field.  Stiles fumbled a bit with putting the stand down in the grass, while an official game by and threw him the ball to place it.  

 _"Nothing to worry about Stiles...  Just the entire school and town out to see you fuck up.  Not a big deal!"_ Stiles laughed quietly to himself, as he stood back up, and ensured that the ball would stay up.  Stepping backwards, he stood alongside the rest of his team, and watching for the official to signal the start of the game.

Stiles' chest thumped loudly in his chest.  He felt more nervous than the time he went through Dark Souls on his first blind run.  More nervous than challenging the Champion in Pokemon with a flashing battery light on his DS.  More nervous than...  

A loud whistle caught him off guard, as the play clock started, and he was probably a few seconds behind on his kicking.  

Stiles took off with a running start, as the rest of the team following closely behind.

Stiles kicked the ball as his legs flew upwards, and he watched it fly through the air, just like he'd done in a million other practices since summer break.  It went over his own team, past the gathering of the White Bisons, and straight past the further player on the field, coming to a halt just beyond the White Bison's 10 yard line, where a player caught the ball, and was then immediately flattened into a pancake, courtesy of Brett Telbot from the Silver wolves.  The officials whistled, bringing the play to an end, which Stiles knew was his signal to get off the field with the special team.  

The stands on the Beacon Hills side applauded loudly, and Stiles heard several whistles.  Guys on his team slapped him on the shoulderpads and ass, grunting and beaming widely, congratulating him.  

"WHAT THE HELL IS WITH THAT KID'S LEG?!" the opposite team's coach yelled, that Stiles could hear clear across the field.

Taking a seat on the bench while the defensive line lined up for playtime, Stiles watched Derek take a seat right next to him.  

"That was awesome!  You're already getting more distance on your kicks!  The workouts are paying off, dude," Derek said, slapping Stiles' shoulder pads supportively.

"Really?" Stiles asked, folding his arms.  "Was that really okay?  I mean, you don't have to lie to me...  Was that a shit kick?" Stiles said, leaning over and whispering to Derek.  In the time since they'd started being study buddies and weight training partners, Stiles felt like maybe Derek wouldn't sugarcoat things like Finstock did.  While not "friends", Stiles felt like maybe he and Derek could at least be team buddies.

Derek blinked wordlessly for a few moments.  "Dude...  That was borderline a 60 to 70 yard kickoff.  In high school.  You're a Sophomore and this is your first year playing," he answered back.

"Is that bad?" Stiles asked.

Derek blinked again, with a similar look on his face as Finstock had moments earlier, cramped and constipated.  "No...  No, Stiles...  That's good, very good.  Dude, you and I are going to have to watch ESPN together sometimes, okay?  Like just hang out and watch some games on the weekends.  You seriously scare me sometimes, man," he said, chuckling quietly.

"My dad says that a lot too," Stiles admitted embarrassingly.  

He and Derek chatted on the bench for the first bit of the game.  The White Bisons had a strong offense, and managed to sneak down the field slowly, with only short gains thanks to Boyd and the Defensive Linemen.  They were finally stopped short barely in the Silver Wolves territory when the offensive line took over.  Derek and Allison took to the field with Jackson and Isaac, and Stiles watched his team move down the field in the opposite direction much quicker than the White Bisons had.  Allison, especially, worked overtime, darting in and out on the field, and catching two long passes from Derek, until they finally scored with a short run from Isaac.

Stiles flinched from the cheering behind and around him, as everyone lost their shit.

"STILINSKI, you're up for the PAT!  We're kicking this one!" Finstock screeched.  

Nodding, Stiles stood up from the bench, adjusted his cleats, and joined the rest of the team for the kick.  This part he remembered well, since it was one he'd always do after Derek helped score them a goal.  

"Don't kick my hand again, Stilinski," a quiet voice said.

Flinching, Stiles turned to his Holder, Liam Dunbar.  The quiet, blonde male was their backup quarterback, a freshman, and had far more muscle than even some of the Juniors and Sophomores.  In terms of reserve players, he was one of the better ones that Finstock had already promised second string playing time to.  Though he was gunning for Derek's spot, without a doubt.  

Glancing away, Stiles grumbled.  "One time..." he muttered.

The officials blew their whistles again, and Stiles took his spot like he'd practiced with Finstock.  Liam squatted down, his hands outstretched and ready to get the snap.

Stiles took a deep breath, and focused on the scene before him.  The band started to play off to the side, just as Stiles' team snapped the ball.  Liam caught the snap, Stiles started to step forward, and Liam planted down the ball, holding it firmly in place.  Kicking the ball, Stiles watched it fly through the sky, and right in between the goalposts, scoring an extra point for the team.

More loud cheering reverberated in the area, and Stiles was surrounding by his team, slapping and congratulating him excitedly.  Derek's trademark wolf-whistle made another appearance, much to Stiles' embarrassment.

Stiles felt his chest burst in some mild form of joy.  Like after a successful raid, and getting the rare drop of his dreams kind of joy.  Maybe just as good, actually.  Maybe.

"THAT'S MY BABY!" Claudia screamed from the top of the bleachers.

The mild form of joy turned quickly to embarrassment again.

+++++

The rest of the game was, as Isaac so eloquently put it, "one big ol' ass whoopin'".  

White Bisons didn't even score for the rest of the game.  They couldn't get past the defensive line, and they had no hopes of stopping Derek and Allison's passing game.  Stiles had the opportunity to kick for 6 extra points in total, before Finstock stuck in the second string, and the backup kicker to get extra practice in.  Though based on the other team's despairing attitude, he'd probably also done it to be respectful to the other team.  With a score of 42-0, Beacon Hills won a decisive victory.

As the game came to a close with the band and fans cheering and singing their school's goofy fight song, Stiles pulled off his helmet after they'd finished congratulating the other other team with the "good game" walk.  

While he didn't have as much running or playing as the rest of the team, the tips of his hair were still sweaty, and a low funky scent emanated from his lower pads.  Walking to the end of the football field with the rest of his team, Stiles pulled off his pads, leaving him in just his compression shirt, which was ill fitting and hung off his body, without much in the way of muscle to fill it in.

His foot was sore, that was for certain.  Between kicking off, the extra points, and the running starts, his dogs were barking.  

Yet...

All in all, the game hadn't been THAT awful.  At least, he hadn't screwed up, and apparently he was able to kick it far enough that he didn't make a fool of himself.  He'd lost his entire night of gaming, but...  Well, he still had a little time leftover that he could probably fit in after a thorough shower.

"STILES!  OH MY GOD, BABY, YOU DID AMAZING!" Claudia shrieked.

Stiles let out a shrill scream as his mother lunged onto him, hugging him around the neck.  A few of the other guys around them chuckled, and Stiles turned a bright red.

Still...  Stiles couldn't help but smile.  Claudia always worried about Stiles being alone with only one friend, especially with her hectic schedule as a city attorney, and with his dad's schedule as the City Sheriff.  In fact, her many ulcers were a testament to her worry.  So seeing her this happy and thrilled, wearing all of the embarrassing school attire and "Stilinski's Mom" emblazoned on the back of her sweater?  

Well, it made losing that stupid bet worth it.

"Son, you kicked ass.  Good game!" John Stilinski exclaimed proudly, slapping Stiles on the back firmly.

Stiles' smile grew brighter.  Like his mother, John worked his ass off for the family.  As the county Sheriff, he had a high-stress job, worried about his son's "obsession" with video games, and Stiles' health that came from his mother's sickly side of the family and their combined horrific genes.  Since starting football, John had seemed a lot more involved in Stiles' life, and become a tad overbearing when it came to getting Stiles healthy.  

So some good had come out of this horrible bet.  Stiles' parents were thrilled at his "outgoing" attitude, and his "hard work" with his new "passion".  Though the fear of them learning the truth?  Well, that turned Stiles' smile around, as he hid his face from them.

"Thanks, guys..." Stiles muttered, embarrassingly.

Claudia released Stiles, clapping her hands together.  "Sweetheart, you did so well!  I took tons of pictures, and I'm sending them to Nana Stilinski!  She's already talking about breaking out of the home and coming to see you some Friday!" she exclaimed.

"Uncle Gavin is also talking about coming down for a weekend to see you play!  He still can't believe all the stories I've been sending him of you!" John said, taking Stiles' shoulder pads and carrying them himself.

Stiles' shoulders, despite the lack of pads, quickly felt heavier.

"STILINSKI!" Derek yelled.

Turning around, Stiles watched the massive Hale family make their way across the field and straight for the Stilinskis.  

Talia Hale, a strong woman with striking features, dressed just as school spirited as Claudia, going as far as to have a bright silver ribbon in her sleek black hair.  Marc Hale, a bulky man who Stiles assumed Derek got his looks and body type from, wore a tight-fitting scarlet school sweater, that complemented his spiky black hair.  A little girl, Cora Hale, no older than 4 or 5, was up on Derek's shoulders (who fit his black compression shirt much better than Stiles), in her own Beacon Hills mini-jersey and black pants.  Though standing taller than any of the Hales was Laura Hale, in a college hoodie and a tied off ponytail, with a powerful figure that came from being the ex-captain of the BHHS swimming team.

"Stiles, great game tonight young man!  Quite a show you gave on!  Your pops over there wouldn't stop bragging on you with the other dads!  Not that I blame him, I did my own share of bragging on Derek!" Marc said, with a booming laugh, slapping Stiles on the back, knocking the wind out of Stiles.

"T...than...k you," Stiles managed to finally cough out.

Talia chuckled.  "It really was, Stiles.  It's going to be a great season, I can tell already," she said.

Laura rose an eyebrow, and turned to Derek.  "This is the kid?  Really, Derek?  This guy is who you're-"

Elbowing Laura in the stomach, Derek handed off Cora to his mother, before walking over to Stiles and laughing nervously.  "So!  Stilinski, the guys are going out tomorrow morning to celebrate.  You in?" he asked.

A wail echoed in the reaches of Stiles' mind.  There was no way his Saturday was going to be ruined as well.  No way in hell.

"Of course he is!  Why don't you all come by our home afterwards!  We have a big backyard, and plenty of space!  I'm off work too, so I'd be happy to give the team a lovely lunch!" Claudia exclaimed.

Stiles shot his mother a pained look.  His forehead twitched from sheer annoyance.

"Why Claudia, that would be wonderful!  Thank you so much, I'd be happy to come by and help you!  I'd love to get to know Stiles and your family better!" Talia announced.

"Me too," Laura said, with a mischievous grin.  Little Cora clapped and giggled in agreement.

Derek shot his sister a pained looked.  Like Stiles, his own forehead twitched.


	3. Chapter 3

"Celebration" would be the understatement of the century.  What the Silver Wolves had in Stiles’ house was more akin to a house party, minus the booze.

After a majority of the team came over to the two-story Stilinski home, they'd all congregated in the fenced off backyard.  Talia, Claudia, and John were busy at the grill, chatting with a multitude of parents that had joined their kids for the backyard barbeque.  Music played overhead on the backyard deck speakers, with his mother’s 80’s playlist of hard rock, pop, and the great classics of her day and age.  

Most of the team were content to throw around a football, shoot hoops on the rarely used basketball goal, chat obnoxiously in groups as they ate their weight in hamburgers, or had traveled inside to the living room for the warmth of central heating.

Part of the latter, Stiles huddled for warmth in his hoodie, standing up against the fireplace to keep his skinny ass out of the cold.  While not a "large" home, the Stilinskis were able to be a part of the upper-middle class, and afforded a large home, with modern and cozy furnishings to match.  A comfortable place that Stiles would never leave, if given the chance.

"There you are, Stilinski!" Derek exclaimed.

Glancing up, Stiles watched Derek slip through the bustling crowd of players, and joining him at his side.  He tried not to pay too much attention to the tight-fitting sweater, or how well it accentuated Derek's shoulders.  Or the scruffy beard that Derek had managed to sport, thicker without his usual shave.

"Hey," Stiles answered, putting on a soft smile.  While the awkwardness of hanging around his crush hadn’t lessened, he did feel comfortable around his teammate, and friend.  Weeks of workouts, practices, and eating lunch together at school with the team had Stiles appreciating more than just his good looks.  Derek was just as beautiful on the inside as the outside.

Leaning beside the fireplace as well, Derek folded his arms and turned to face Stiles.  "Dude, you have a cool house, and your mom is hilarious!  I think she and my mom haven't stopped laughing since they got here this morning!  Though I will admit that I think they’re laughing about us," he exclaimed.

Stiles chuckled.  "My mom's a riot.  She's just busy, and doesn't get out much.  When she does?  Well, I'm not going to be held responsible for her actions," he said.  At the very least, Stiles had hidden his baby photos.

Derek snorted.  "Same here, same here..." he added quietly.

Derek's side brushed up against Stiles, and both men flinched at the overzealous spark.

"Whoa...  Sorry!" Derek said, brushing off his sweater.  "Static electricity..." he chuckled nervously.

"Yeah!" Stiles replied, laughing right back.

They stood in a mutual, awkward silence, as the sounds of the party from outside echoed loudly.  Fire crackled behind them, as the silence was broken by Derek clearing his throat. Their eyes couldn’t break away from one and other’s.

"So…  Uh...  I've got a question for you, Stilinski," Derek said, shaking his head.

Stiles rose an eyebrow curiously.  "Uh, sure.  What's up?" he asked, still stuck in Derek's gaze.

"I uh...  So why'd you join the football team?   I've been dying to ask for a while now, and...  Well, you played a hell of a game last night, so I'm even more curious now," Derek asked, finally breaking the staring contest, and the awkward silence..

Stiles felt the hairs on his neck stand up.  Because like hell was he going to be able to tell the truth about THAT particular subject.;  "I uh...  What do you mean?" he replied, his voice cracking in the process.  

Derek shrugged.  "I mean...  Not a lot of guys start this late in football.  They usually do pee wee, middle school, and junior high football first.  Plus, you're not exactly an expert on the sport.  I was just curious, you know...  I mean, it's great that you're on the team!" he explained, as he lapsed into an excited, nervous tone at the end, holding both hands up defensively.  "Don't get me wrong!  You're an awesome kicker, and a freaking great guy to hang out with!  I was just wondering, that's all!  I mean, we want to keep you around a while, obviously, so we want to make sure you're liking this," he added onto the end.

"Oh, I uh..." Stiles said, glancing away. _"I bet Scott McCall that I could go a whole month without playing a single video game.  I lost that bet, and now I'm playing on the team because of it,"_ he thought to himself.  Even in his head, the sentence sounded stupid.  He took a deep breath, and plastered on a  fake smile.  "I just uh...  I kind of got pushed into it, really.  My dad's always been worried about my health, my mom dreamed of me having a lot of friends, and my best friend Scott sort of...  Well, he sort of was the one who kicked me into this head-first," he explained.

Not a lie.  Not the truth.  A liuth.  A lying truth?  Stiles groaned to himself and his horrible taste in vocabulary fusion.

"Cool...  I can respect that," Derek said, nodding and apparently happy with the answer.  

Yet another awkward silence followed.  

"What...  What about you?" Stiles asked.

"Huh?" Derek replied, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles cleared his throat, realizing how stupid the question must have sounded for someone as star-worthy as Derek Hale.  Still...

"I uh...   What about you?  Why'd you start playing football?  Did you just like the game a lot or something?" Stiles asked.

In an instant, Stiles watched Derek's entire face melt downward.  As if, for that brief moment, Stiles could see the otherwise peppy male seem...  Down.

Still, Derek laughed, and forced on a smile to hide away that pain.  "My dad made me tryout when I was in peewee.  I had fun with my friends.  I guess that's why I started, anyway, but nowadays..." he said, sighing quietly.  "I mean, it's all I'm good for.  It's my only hope," he answered.

"Your only...  Hope?" Stiles asked, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

Derek nodded.  "Yeah, it's my only hope.  I'm not dumb, but...  I don't have straight A grades like you.  I don't test well, so my SAT sucks.  I can memorize english and history like it's nothing, but math and science are like a foreign language to me, and my GPA is average at best because of it.  Stuff like college?  If it weren't for football, I wouldn't have a chance at it.  That's why...  Why I have to be the best and play every game like my future is on the line, because...  It is," he said, rather bitterly.

Stiles felt his face crack slightly, in sympathy for Derek.  All of that was news to Stiles.  He'd never actually thought all that much about what jocks did for their futures.  Yet, it made sense.   

Laughing, Derek shook his head.  "So yeah...  Football's a big deal for me.  Really good athletic scholarships are rare, and only for the top players in the country.  Unless I'm one of them...  Well, I don't know if my family could afford to send me to college, and I know they aren't doing that for Laura right now.  I could get loans, but then I'd be in debt for the rest of my life, since being a teacher or a coach, my dream, isn't exactly a well-paying position," he answered.

"Wow," Stiles thought to himself, in awe of Derek's attitude.  “You…  You want to be a teacher too?  I-”

As Stiles opened his mouth to speak, he was silenced by the back door slamming shut.

"STILINSKI?!" Isaac yelled.

Jumping, Stiles and Derek both turned to the back entrance.  Isaac, Boyd, Jackson, Allison, and a gaggle of linemen were following them.  Scott had also finally come in, having joined the outside game with Allison the second he'd gotten to the house..  

Coming up beside Stiles, Isaac smiled, clapping his hands together.  Most of them were sweaty, and Jackson had a football tucked under his shirt from the game that had been going on outside.

"Dude...  You got any video games around here or something?  We're freezing our dicks off out there," Issac said, huddling for warmth closer to the first place.

Stiles nodded out of instinct.  "Sure, I've got the-" he said, cutting himself off.  He felt his chest tighten, realizing what he'd just admitted to.  Realizing where they'd all probably like to go see next.  Realizing what they'd see.

The Sanctuary.  

 

_"Sweet!"_

_"Whatcha got?"_

_"Hook us up, man!"_

 

The chorus of several team members all combining together forced a nervous laugh out of Stiles.  He hid behind Derek, and quickly directed everyone up the carpeted stairs.  Stiles sweated bullets, gulping as he realized this is where the dork would probably get laughed at.  

Unable to really take back what he'd said (and knowing good and well that Jackson and Scott knew where the video games were), Stiles went to the far end of the second floor.  The room right next to his, which had (at one time) been a second living area, but given to him for his own space several years ago.

"Uh...  I've got some games here," Stiles admitted, pulling the door open and letting out a deep sigh as everyone stepped in.

The silence?  Deafening.

"Oh my God..." Derek said, as his jaw gaped.

"Jesus Christ, Stilinski...." Isaac muttered to himself.

The rest of the guys gaped as well, murmuring quiestly, and Stiles started swearing to himself.  Of course showing them the entertainment room had been a mistake.  It showed off his king dork status, in the worst way possible.  

While the big screen TV was certainly outdated (taking up a third of the wall), having every major gaming console since 1989 attached to it was a definite plus, including several bookshelves full of games for each system on both sides of the television set.  Embarrassingly enough, he also had several posters and wall scrolls hanging on the walls from promotional events, most featuring Nintendo mascots, or gaming icons.  Not to mention the classic movie collection, in VHS, DVD, and Blu-Ray that took up the entire right side of the room.  All centered around an old sectional, and cheap bean bags from wal-mart.  

The entertainment room had basically taken Stiles his entire life to build up, with funding coming from Stiles' computer knowledge and getting a paycheck from his mother's office to digitize and catalog all of their old case files.  His monthly paycheck had gone into this space,  since he was 14, with the ideas of transferring it to his own home when he finally moved out.

This was his Sanctuary, where he'd spend each and every day and night of his life, with the lights off, the curtains drawn, and the outside world far away from his mind.  In here?  He didn't have to face the loneliness.  He had virtual friends and family, other worlds to explore, and realms to conquer.  Interactions with people that didn’t make fun of him, and who could make him laugh, cry, and enjoy life.

From the silence around him, Stiles felt stupid for letting them in.  There was no way that they wouldn't make fun of him for this.  He'd just outed himself further as a dork, and now things were going to get even worse.  

"I'm moving in.  DIBS on Stilinksi as a best friend, sorry Scott!" Boyd called out, breaking the silence and opening the floodgates of loud noise echoing all around Stiles.

"DUDE, HE'S GOT SMASH BROS!  THE GOOD ONE!  THERE'S ALSO A GAMECUBE!  WITH ALL FOUR CONTROLLERS!" Isaac screeched, after jumping over the sectional and immediately inspecting the wall of games. The roar of excitement about that nearly broke Stiles' eardrums.

"Get the fuck out!  Do you literally have every movie ever made?!  Oh my God!  Can I PLEASE borrow this?" Allison asked, hugging several DVDs tightly to her chest from the racks of movies.

"S...  Sure?" Stiles asked, unable to really fathom the excitement around him.  

"What the hell?  They LIKE this kind of shit?!" Stiles thought to himself, in abject disbelief.

"Wow...  Stilinski, this is...  This is awesome!  Party at your house EVERY weekend!  Study nights here, for SURE!" Derek announced, clapping Stiles on the back and pulling him further inside.  

Stiles felt his chest lighten, and his face must have been a sight to behold, with all the shock and awe.  

Boyd, several defensive linemen, and Scott all scrambled to Isaac's side as they began an impromptu Smash Brothers tournament.  Stiles could only watch in awe as his team got into the same kind of screaming matches that he and Scott got into, including wrestling to the ground for being "cheap ass bastards".   Only the games were all that more chaotic with four people playing at once, and a full audience behind them screaming advice and support at every turn.

Before Stiles could even realize it, the party had moved upstairs, and the last of the team had all come upstairs to see what all the fuss was about.  

Even more people gathered around the TV, and the noise level got even LOUDER than before.  

Still in a daze, Stiles barely realized it when he'd been handed one of the four controllers for the next round.

"Guys, just an FYI that Stiles is a fucking BEAST.  You're gonna get your asses kicked," Scott announced from behind.

Loud "oohs" echoed around the room, and Stiles felt himself getting slapped on the back shoulders for support, while others started screaming smack talk en masse.  

An all too familiar wolf whistle blared off in the distance, breaking Stiles out of his trance, and allowing him to, at least for a little while, relax.

Boyd and two of his defensive linemen would soon get their asses kicked, via a brutal Jigglypuff beat down, that showed everyone who the King of Gaming was on this team, hands down.

 

+++++

 

Stiles didn't even realize that the party had tapered down.  Sure, a bunch of the guys left to go off and do their own things, and sure he'd heard the outside sound system turn off, and naturally he should have known that time should have progressed, but...

Six hours later, and the sun started to fall down as just he, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, Scott, Allison, and Derek remained in the upstairs entertainment room.  Having switched games several times over, Stiles, Derek, Allison, and Isaac were in a heated battle in Mario Kart 8.  Stiles could have sworn that maybe five minutes had passed, and they’d still just come upstairs.

"YOU ASSHOLE!  HOARDING THOSE RED SHELLS LIKE A BITCH!" Allison screamed, shoving her elbow into Isaac.

Isaac laughed maniacally, like some fucked up Saturday Morning cartoon villain.  He also spanned the horn on his controller, adding to the irritation of his first place status.

"Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit!" Derek yelled, as Allison ran through his kart with a star-powered vehicle.  

"HA!  EAT THAT," Allison yelled.

So lost in the game, lost in the competitiveness, and the fun of having other human players, Stiles barely realized his shoulders were relaxed, his glasses slanted, and that he'd been smiling uncontrollably for the last couple of hours.  His heart raced, better than any of the gaming marathons he’d had with just him and Scott.  

Which climaxed into downright joy as a boomerang shot out of Stiles' kart, and threw Isaac off the track and into pure oblivion.  

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Isaac screeched.

Stiles barked out a laugh, also sounding like a bad villain.  "SUCK IT, LOSER!  BOW DOWN, PEON!" he roared out, holding nothing back as his volume hit a solid ten.

Everyone, save for Jackson and Scott, all turned to Stiles with an incredulous glare, surprised to hear such volume come from Stiles' tiny lungs.

Having realized that he'd yelled himself, Stiles' face turned a bright red as the race came to and end.  He'd been as aggressive as any of the guys had been during a football game.  Sure, that was normal for Stiles when he was on his own or in front of Scott, but never like that in public.  

Whoops.  

"Well I'll be damned!  Stilinski's got a backbone!" Boyd said, clapping his hands together approvingly.

Derek snorted unable to hold back his own brand of warm laughter.  "Dude...  That was...  Holy shit!  I'm dying!  I’m dying!  You’re too much!" he joked, stifling his laugh into Stiles' shoulder, getting the giggles worse than a kid would, and snorting through his nose repeatedly.

"Oh please.  You haven't seen jack shit.  You should see him trash talk the twelve year olds online in Call of Duty.  He can give Lewis Black a run for his money.  Seriously, he’s scarred those kids for LIFE," Scott said, with a shit-eating grin off on the other side of the sectional.

"Scott!  Shut up!" Stiles yelled, shooting daggers at his buddy.

Jackson rolled his eyes.  "Surprise, surprise...  Stilinski has a mouth.  I've known that for years.  You guys want to know about what he did at his ninth birthday party?  Now that’s the real dirt!  He totally-," he said, shaking his head.

"SHUT UP, JACKSON!" Stiles squeaked, leaping over Derek and covering Jackson's mouth with his hands.  The two fell off the couch, slamming into the carpeting and grappling for a few minutes.

The group laughed in unison at the sight, but the sound broke up as Claudia Stilinski opened up the door to the entertainment room.  She smiled at the kodak moment, pulling up her cell phone and snapping a picture of everyone gathered at the sectional.

"Oh my goodness!  Is everyone having fun?" Claudia asked, her face beaming in joy.

The group nodded an affirmative, while Stiles lifted his head up from the floor, clamoring back to the sectional.  He cleared his throat, and adjusted his glasses.  "H...  Hey mom!" he said.

Claudia looked down at her watch, then back to the group.  "Well, it's getting pretty late, and it's probably about time for dinner.  Though I hate to break up the fun, so why don't you all just stay the night?  That is, if your parents are okay with that?  I’m okay with keeping the party going!  I’m hip!  I’m down with this!," she said, excitingly, spewing loudly in an uncontrolled joy.

"I'd love to-" Isaac exclaimed, only to have Jackson elbow him in the gut.  He glared at his brother, then at Allison, Boyd and Scott, then quickly nodding in Stiles and Derek's direction.

Each of them caught on immediately.

"Sorry, Isaac and I have to get back home.  Mom and Dad are going to have us doing...  Something of some kind tomorrow morning," Jackson said, in an none too convincing tone.

Scott winked in Jackson's direction.  "Same.  Besides, Allison and I are going out to the movies tonight.  We should probably get going, actually," he said, standing up and helping Allison off the couch, where the two shared a brief kiss.

Boyd sighed.  "So much for moving in," he mumbled under his breath, joining the rest of the group.

Claudia turned to Derek, with hopeful eyes.  "Derek?  Do you have any plans tonight?  Can you stay the night?" she asked.

"Well...  I mean, no, I don’t have plans…  I mean, is it okay to stay the night?  I wouldn’t want to impose..." Derek said, as his face flushed a bright red.

"Of course he can stay!  He and Stiles have a lot of playing to do," Isaac said, snorting under his breath.  

Jackson, Scott, and Allison chuckled alongside Isaac, as the group made a quick exit.

Derek shot a dirty glare their way, as Stiles felt a lot of color drain out of his body.  Any tan he'd earned over the summer faded in an instant.

"Great!  Derek, why don’t you call your parents and make sure it’s okay with them.  In the meantime, I'll order a pizza for dinner, and you guys can just hang out here.  John and I are just down the hall, so try and keep it down after eleven, okay?  Stiles, the extra pillows and sheets are in the closets downstairs, whenever you two are ready for bed!" Claudia explained, before making herself scarce in the entertainment area.

Left to their own devices, Stiles and Derek turned to face each other.  They shared a momentary silence, before turning away and staring back at the television set.

"So...  Uh...  Stilinski?  Do you want to watch some TV?  Play a different game?" Derek asked, clearing his throat, while rubbing the back of his neck.

A low twitch hit Stiles' forehead.  He was seriously sick of that nickname.  Especially coming from Derek.

"Uh..." Stiles said, gulping quietly.  "You can...  You can call me Stiles, you know.  I don't know why you guys call me Stilinski...  I mean, my first name is a lot shorter, you know!  Plus, it's a lot less weird.  I mean..  We're teammates, right?  Is there some unwritten law about only calling each other by last names?" he said, laughing nervously.

Derek nodded.  "Y...Yeah.  I can do that, Stiles.  No problem...  I uh...  I guess it's just...  What everyone called you, sorry," he answered, nodding quietly.  

Another long section of silence followed.

Stiles adjusted his glasses.  "Uh...  So you said you wanted me to watch football?  To show me...  Stuff?  Finstock gave me a book, but it's really boring," he admitted.

"Yeah!" Derek announced, as they both sat next to one and other on the sectional couch.  There was little space between them, their shoulders touching and sparking all over again, while Derek took control of the remote.  He flipped on the TV, and turned to the first college game he could find.

Not that Stiles could remember much of anything Derek ranted about that night.  Nor did Derek make all that much sense about what he was telling Stiles.

The two were far too obsessed staring at one and other, stealing glances back and forth.


	4. Chapter 4

Three more games passed for the Silver Wolves, each a resounding victory for Beacon Hills.  They'd creamed the Red Devils (32-6), shut down the Cyclones (24-0), and had a close victory over the #2 ranked team of the season, the Wildcats, (24-18).

With the season coming to the halfway point, the school and town buzzed for the fifth game against Signal Academy, a private religious school that belonged to the town of Signal Lake, one of the top 3 ranked schools in their conference, and their school's biggest rival.

Which, naturally, was the topic of discussion at Stiles' lunch table.  

Sitting with the rest of the football team (and a handful of the lacrosse team members, including Scott), all wearing their jerseys for that night's game, Stiles tugged at his jersey (#3), which wore a little more snugly than it had a month ago.  His white long-sleeve undershirt was practically unwearable, melding with his skin from the tightness, much to his irritation.  He figured he'd hit a growth spurt or something.

"...all I'm saying is that they play dirty!  Did you not see that video of them on facebook?  That behemoth lineman broke that poor kid's arm on the White Bisons!  He's a monster!" Isaac said, shoving two slices of pizza into his mouth at the same time.

Boyd rolled his eyes.  "Please...  Those bastards aren't touching ANYONE," he countered, aggressively.

A rumbling of agreement from the other linemen players echoed, to which Jackson scoffed.

"Coming from someone who's going to play fair, none of you can say that.  I guarantee you that they're going to make pot-shots, and if they have local referees, they're going to get away with it.  We've all seen it before," Jackson said, turning to Isaac.  "You're handling the ball tonight on runs.  I'm too pretty to be broken in half," he added playfully.

Isaac shoved Jackson, and the brothers quickly got into yet another colorful argument between them, just like any other day.  

Stiles sighed, as his plate of food (easily twice what he would have eaten the year prior) shook from their play-fighting, and rolled his eyes.  "Can we not go a day without those two bickering?" he asked, turning to Derek.

Chuckling, Derek shook his head.  "Nah, doubt it.  You've got a better chance of Jackson asking Lydia out," he said, flashing his white teeth in a smile.

With a snort, Stiles picked up his third slice of pizza, and laughed back.  "Nah, you've got a better chance of Lydia actually accepting Sir Douchenozzle," he counted.

"HEY!" Jackson screeched, shoving Stiles from across the table.

Derek and Stiles both laughed, alongside the rest of the team.  Helping Stiles bat away Jackson, Derek just chuckled warmly.

"So Stiles, what are your plans this weekend?  Want to come over to my place, we can catch the game, do a little weight lifting, and you can bring over your video games!" Derek said, smiling eagerly.

"Will Princess Cora demand our presence at her tea party?" Stiles asked, snorting sarcastically.

"One time!  At least you didn't have to dress up or wear a crown!" Derek exclaimed, playfully nudging Stiles in the side.

Laughing, Stiles finally nodded.  "Sure, sounds good!" he replied excitedly.

Oddly enough, he'd spent pretty much every weekend since the Celebration party with Derek, either at his house, or Derek's.  For whatever reason, everyone on their team always had "plans" on the weekend.  Even Scott seemed to always be doing something.  

Not that Stiles wanted to complain.  Derek was a great guy, and a closet nerd that Stiles had come to really enjoy being around.

Stiles finished up the rest of his lunch, while everyone kept up the discussions about the game that night, or about Finstock's blood pressure tripling that week.  Eventually, though, the lunch hour came to an end, and Stiles checked the clock on the wall.

"I've got to go grab my gym bag from my locker.  See you guys on the field," Stiles said, as he stood up with his empty tray.

"Seeya Stilinski!" the team echoed.

Walking across the busy cafeteria, Stiles felt several sets of eyes glancing over him.  A few giggles here and there from girls, some sleek looks from a few guys, and half a dozen people waved and greeted him in some way.

 _"What are they looking at?  Do I have something on my jersey?"_ Stiles thought to himself while Danny Mahealani, on the lacrosse team, did a double take as Stiles passed the table at the far end of the cafeteria.

Stiles put up his tray, stopping as he spotted Scott, in his deeper red lacrosse jersey, joined him to dump his own tray.

Scott beamed, slapping Stiles on the back.  "Hey dude!  How's it hanging?" he asked.

"I'm about to go out and run a mile, kick a ball for thirty minutes, and listen to one of Finstock's boring ripped off speeches for tonight's game.  How do you think?" Stiles answered back sarcastically.

"Oh come on!  You love it, don't even try to hide it!  Hell, you do EXTRA running on the weekends with Derek and the guys, Allison totally told on you, dude," Scott said, as they both exited the cafeteria together, and into the empty hallways.

Stiles cleared his throat, glancing away.  "I wouldn't say I'm in LOVE with the sport, Scott.  I...  I'm just getting through this hell with an optimistic attitude, and I...  I like the cold air, you know that!," he answered, feeling his chest flutter.  

Because like hell was he going to be able to admit to Scott that he was...  

Well, that he didn't HATE football 100% anymore.  Maybe just 80% now.  60%, tops.  The hate graph definitely had a downward trend.  

Sure, practice was a bitch, it was a gaping time hog, and he actually struggled sometimes to get his homework done with all the practice and hanging out he did these days, but...

Turning back to look through the glass windows into the cafeteria, Stiles spotted the table he'd been practically dragged to since the first game.  His teammates had been the ones to make everything bearable.  

Sure, they had their obnoxious points.  Jackson obsessed about sex far too much to be normal, Isaac was over-energetic and had crude jokes to tell all the time, Boyd cared way too much about fantasy football, and the whole team in general was just so grade-A testosterone-driven alphas that he couldn't help but groan at the way they acted and behaved sometimes.

Yet...  

Jackson was the kind of guy who genuinely cared about his brother and would cut a bitch if anyone tried to hurt Isaac.  Isaac had passion that could take up the entire sun with his desire to work for the foster service, and the study ethics to back it up.  Boyd loved his family more than anything in the world, and often would cancel on team parties to hang out with his little siblings.  They all had their good points about them too, and half a dozen of the linemen actually apologized for bullying Stiles when he was younger, admitting they were jerks.  Manly feels all over the place.

Then there was Derek.  The king of the Jocks, who had a thing for romantic comedies, loved video games, was a homebody that preferred to be a couch potato than be a party animal, and who longed so deeply for good grades and a promising career in education that he would stay up all hours of the night with his practice SAT books.  Sometimes, Stiles stayed up with him too, trying to make Derek feel as confident in school as Derek made Stiles feel in sports.

Stiles felt his face flush, just thinking about him.  If he'd had just a crush on Derek before, he outright loved the man now.  

Though that realization transformed his face into a crestfallen mess.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, who glanced at his hurting friend cautiously.

Shaking off the sadness, Stiles brandished a fake smile.  "What?  Dude, if you're going to try and bet me to do a second season, you can...  Can just...  Just forget it!  No way in hell, one season was enough!" he stammered out, trying to sound confident, and laugh the whole situation off.  They came to a stop at a junction in the hallway, just before the Sophomore hallway.

"Uh...  Yeah..." Scott said, as his own face darkened.  "So...  You're not gonna keep going?  After the season's over, I mean?  I just...  I thought with you and Derek...  You might-"

"Might what?" Stiles asked, laughing off the thought before Scott could get it out.  He folded his arms.  "Derek and I are just friends, Scott.  Football or no football, that's...  Never going to change," he said quietly.

Just saying the words?  That hurt far more than it should have.

Because he felt like there was so much more between him and Derek than just being a mere friendship.  With Scott hanging all over Allison, Stiles had found a new comrade in Derek.  They hung out practically every weekend, studying, or having sleepovers at each other's house, just being themselves.  On away games, they shared a seat in the very back in the team bus, and watched Netflix on the longer drives back home.  As weight partners, their workouts were more a long conversation than a pain-ridden hour of suffering, with both men making remarked improvements in their weight lifting capabilities.

Yet...  That was all it was.  A friendship.  Hell, Derek might not even feel like they were friends.  Maybe he was just wishfully thinking all of that, and they were just close teammates.

A second season of that chest-ripping realization?  Stiles could do without that.

"Oh..." Scott said, nervously fidgeting with his hands.  "Well...  You're good at it, so I just though-"

Stiles laughed again.  "They can find someone else.  Greenberg's my backup, and he's been doing well enough when they bring in second string.  I'm not-"

"I meant..." Scott said, interrupting his friend, shaking his head.  "I meant, since playing, you've been...  Happier, you know?  I mean, do you even see yourself?" he said, signaling up and down Stiles' body.

Stiles just rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, scrawny kicker dork on the football team who'll go back to being a loser next year.  I'm totally happier," he said sarcastically, waving off Scott as he made his way out of the cafeteria and towards his locker in the Sophomore hallway.

Standing, dumbfounded, Scott just blinked in disbelief.  

 _"Does he really not see it?_ " Scott asked himself quietly, glancing over the body that had once been his best friend.  Gone was the "scrawny kicker dork".  From the workouts, the running, his new diet, and everything he'd been doing since the summer?  Stiles had gradually transformed, with a mild muscle tone and tan, not all that far away from having a body like Jackson or Isaac.  Girls and guys all throughout the school were whispering about him and his rockin' body, all dying to ask him out, but scared of his Sheriff Father.  

Though Scott didn't care that much about his body, because that wasn't the important thing.

Stiles' new-found, daily smiles, replacing that lonely, sad frown?  That was the real change that Scott noticed.

As the hallway crowded, Scott felt Jackson's hand clasp on his shoulder.

"So..  I'm guessing Stiles is still being Stiles, based on the look on your face?" Jackson asked.

Nodding profusely, Scott groaned.  "Stiles is an idiot," he said, sighing painfully.

Jackson huffed.  "Derek too.  Dude doesn't even realize that he's playing better than he has in years, or that he's not stressing as much about school or ball.  We're going to need the big guns, huh?" he asked.

"Tactical nuke," Scott replied, despairingly.

"I think Isaac has one in his closet," Jackson answered, patting Scott on the back as they made a quick exit.

 

+++++

 

With the Game 5 battle between Signal Academy and Beacon High School in full swing, Stiles wouldn't even know that it was a home game in BHHS territory.  Signal Academy had brought enough cheering support to take up even more space than the small town of Beacon Hills could.  

A sea of red and violet swept over the football field's bleachers, with loud and overbearing away team fans never shutting up even for a moment.  It was clear that the Signal Academy Warriors were the pride of their town.  (Or an obsession...)

Though that fact?  Stiles could live with the sad parents living vicariously through their children.  No, it was the opposing team and their shitty plays that got on Stiles' nerves.  Sure, he wasn't an expert, but even someone as naive as Stiles about football could tell that the Warriors were dickwads.

From the bench, (and thanks to plenty of time watching college football with John and Derek) Stiles could see the kind of bullshit that Isaac had been talking about at lunch.  Seething angrily, Stiles could see his breath fog up in the cold of October's winter weather, with the rest of his team.  He gripped tightly on his kneepad, probably leaving red marks on his skin.

Late hits, personal fouls, unsportsmanlike conduct, and just an over-aggressiveness presented from the team that practically screamed "I want to win at every cost".  Hell, it wasn't even the kind of passionate strength like Derek, Allison, or their team showed on every game.  No, they were violent for the sake of being violent.

Not that it even helped them all that much.  With the score just before halftime being 7-0 with Beacon Hills ahead, they'd screwed themselves half the time with penalties, and turned over the ball more than was probably necessary.

Point in case, Stiles watched Derek take a snap, and back away, readying a pass to Allison.  He let the pass go, in a perfect spiral to Allison.

Though a full few moments after he'd let the ball go, several Warrior players broke through the Beacon Hills linemen, and all aimed right for Derek, way after the pass had been made.  Three collapsed on Derek, throwing him to the ground, as he grunted audibly.  Nobody was stupid, they all wanted Derek out of the game, or too tired to continue.

"HEY!" Stiles, Finstock, and most of their team screamed in unison.  Yet another blatant penalty, which thankfully was caught as yellow flags flew high up into the air.

The play came to a stop after Allison had been shoved violently into out of bounds, missing the pass, but also being a blatant victim of pass interference that the officials ignored completely.  

More outcries came from the team and the Beacon Hills stands, which were drowned out by the violent "booing" coming from the other side as the officials called out the penalty and spotted the ball further down the path for the Silver Wolves, as well as for a first down, deeper into Warrior territory.

"This is bullshit!" Liam screeched, right next to Stiles and vibrating his tiny body into a vicious rage.

"ASSHOLES!" Stiles screeched, as his blood boiled.  He felt the same kind of rage like he'd feel in a game of League of Legends, with bitching 12 year olds talking shit.  Hell, this was worse.  His friends were the victims of abuse, in the real world, and not just some virtual character with pre-recorded voices.

The largest member of the Warriors, "The Behemoth" as everyone called him, shot Stiles a vicious glare as he jogged away from Derek, and back to his own team.

"Stilinski!" Finstock yelled.

Glancing up, Stiles stood up from the bench and jogged over to his coach.

Finstock was jittery, smacking on gum and huffing angrily.

"What's up, coach?" Stiles asked curiously.  

He pointed to the clock, which had less than 2 minutes up on the board before halftime.  

"We're not getting past their defense fast enough, and they're wearing Derek and Allison down...  Isaac and Jackson are going to run the ball for a little more yardage, and you're going to kick for a field goal.  We don't have time to score a full touchdown before the half.  Think you can do a 40-yarder at that angle?" Finstock asked, putting his arm across Stiles' shoulders.

Surveying the field, Stiles saw that they were at a rough angle to kick at with the side they were on.  Straight on kicks were easy enough to aim, but angled ones were tricky.

Still...

Stiles flinched as he watched Derek try to run the ball for a short gain, only to get smacked down violently again, throwing him to the ground.  His friend had a hard time getting up after that play.

"Yeah.  I can do it," Stiles answered confidently.  Grabbing at his helmet from underneath his arm, Stiles slammed it on, and strapped his chin guard.

Finstock beamed.  "Thatta boy!" he said, smacking Stiles on the ass, and whistling out to the field for a time out.  

The team swapped out their players, prepping for a field goal.  Liam and Stiles both ran out to the placement of the ball, and Liam smirked Stiles' way.  

"Don't hit my hand," Liam joked.

Stiles laughed, shaking his head.  Since the first game win, he and Liam had their own little good luck chant, always hoping they'd have the same success with each kick.

"One time!" Stiles fired back, as he and Liam high-fived each other.

Each team took their positions, and Stiles eyed the Behemoth, lining up right in front of Boyd.  They guy had his eyes straight on Stiles, and a devilish grin on his face.

Rolling his eyes at the douche, Stiles focused his attention on Liam and the blown whistle that restarted the game clock.

Moments later, the Silver Wolves put their whole attention back into the game.  A tight snap flew back into Liam's hands perfectly, and the Freshman placed the ball in the perfect fashion, as always.

Stiles took a running start, and smacked his foot into the ball with all his strength.  It flew out of Liam's hands, and off into the cold night sky, over the Warrior's heads, and free from being blocked.

Stiles beamed as he watched the ball flying through the air, and straight at the goal.  Though that attention switched as he watched Boyd go crashing to the ground, and Liam be plowed over by the Behemoth, and still running straight at Stiles.

Standing like an idiot, Stiles just assumed the guy would stop and was being an aggressive dick.  He HAD to stop, Stiles already had kicked the ball, the guy couldn't rough the kicker, that was against the rules.    

Yet, he didn't stop.  The six and a half foot man, with muscles to give Derek and Boyd combined a run for their money, still wasn't stopping.

"STILINSKI, GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Coach Finstock yelled.

"STILES!  MOVE IT!" Derek screamed.

Spinning around to spot his coach and Derek waving animatedly in his direction, Stiles missed the last moments before the behemoth closed the last of the gap between them.

"Who's the asshole now, bitch?" he heard the douche yell darkly, just before Stiles felt the world around him black out.

 

+++++

 

Consciousness slowly came back to Stiles.

A chill covered his body, and he felt under-dressed.  Quickly, he realized that he was somewhere cold, wearing just his compression shirt and void of his shoulderpads.  His legs were warm with his leg padding, but that was about the only part of him that wasn't uncomfortable.

Stiles felt his back screaming out in pain, as if a large bruise were covering it.  A splitting headache formed behind his eyes, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

Soreness, in general, the kind of pain he'd felt in the early days of football camp back in the summer.  

It was only after a few minutes of coming back to himself that Stiles realized his head wasn't on a comfortable pillow.  Rather...  He was on grass?

Fingers touched his eyes, and Stiles was blinded by a light in his eyes, which he flinched against.

"Put that out!...  Ow..." Stiles grumbled, as his headache got worse.

"There he is...." a man said, with a warm smile.

"Thank Christ..." Coach Finstock said, the other figure, sighing in genuine relief.

Stiles kept blinking, as the blurry figures above him finally came into focus.  Above him was the school's athletic trainer, Dr. Alan Deaton, who also doubled as the town's pediatrician.  A bulky man, he'd been a football legend in his youth, not all that long ago.

"Stiles?  You with us again?  How many fingers am I holding up?" Deaton asked.

The blurriness gone completely, Stiles watched the man holding up two fingers.

"Two?" Stiles asked.

"Very good...  Okay, Stiles, I need you to remain perfectly still," Deaton said, before waving over someone from the sidelines.  

Doing as he was told, Stiles blinked several times, trying to remember exactly what happened.  Last that he could recall, he'd been at the game, and on the sidelines yelling with Liam, before going out to do a field goal.  The low roar of angry individuals on both sides of the bleachers seemed to support that theory to Stiles.

 

_"We ask that everyone please remain silent, out of respect for the injured player, while he receives medical attention.  Members of the Beacon County Sheriff's office also ask that everyone please remain in your seats at this time.  Thank you for your cooperation." the announcer and county deputy, Jordan Parrish, called out in his no-nonsense tone._

 

Jordan successfully put fear in the crowd, on both sides.  Quiet enough to hear a pin drop, Stiles would have sworn he was in a church.  Though he appreciated that, with the splitting headache and pounding heartbeat in the middle of his head driving him insane.

The individuals Deaton had called finally arrived, and Stiles watched his mother and father bend down to his level.

"Stiles!  Stiles, are you okay?" Claudia cried out, bending down next to her son, and cupping his face in her hands.

Groaning, Stiles lifted up his hand, and gently massaged his head.  Not that he could accurately vocalize any of his pain, with his head still spinning wildly, leaving him lightheaded.  He felt like vomiting.

John bent down as well, watching over his son with a concerned expression, bordering on a heart attack.  "Stiles?  Son, you with us?" he asked.

"Yeah...  Yeah, I'm here," Stiles answered, shutting his eyes so that the lights from the field didn't make his headache all that worse.

Deaton turned to John and Claudia.  "I'm not concerned with a concussion, he seems to be in his facilities, and his pupils aren't blown.  Still, he's obviously in pain, but I personally think he just got his bell rung from that bull of a player.  Though, to be safe, I'm going to insist that he go to the ER and be checked out immediately.  Passing out isn't normal, but given his size and the force of the impact, it's possible he just got the wind knocked out of him," he said warmly to the parents, before turning to Coach Finstock.  "Bobby, can you call the EMTs over?  We're going to take him right now, as long as Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski agree?"he asked.

"Of course!  Please do, Mr. Finstock," Claudia answered for him.

Standing up, Bobby waved off to the side of the field, where an ambulance was stationed for emergencies during home games.

"What?  No, no, I'm fine, I don't need a doctor, I'm-" Stiles said, attempting to raise his body up, only to have his father, Dr. Deaton, and his mother gently press him back down.

John shook his head.  "Son, not happening.  You're going to the ER, no arguments," he said.

While wordless, Stiles could make out the glance of concern coming from his mother.  

"Relax, Stiles...  Just take it easy and try to breath in and out easily," Deaton said.

The bustle of the EMTs on sight caught Stiles' attention, as a large man and women brought out a gurney, and lowered it down to his level.  His parents moved out of the way, and before Stiles knew it, he was being lifted up and onto the gurney, and had his head laid back on a soft pillow.  

As the gurney was stood up for them to roll him into the ambulance, Stiles caught sight of his team, all on one knee.  Well, except for Derek, Boyd, and seven other linemen, who had taken Derek back to the bench, and were holding him down and keeping him calm.  Furthermore, Stiles caught the Signal Academy coaches speaking with several of his father's deputies, while the behemoth was being escorted out off the football field, who'd been obviously ejected from the game.

 

_"Let's please have a round of applause for #3, Mr. Stiles Stilinski, as he goes to receive medical treatment," Jordan called out over the field._

 

Stiles closed his eyes, embarrassed from the applause and cheer that he got from the Beacon Hills side, as well as the hollering he got from his teammates.  Sure, he supposed it was respectful, and he'd seen it done for other players, but...

He felt like they were cheering him on for getting beat up.  On some level, Stiles might have found that funny, if his head wasn't splitting in half.

Reaching the ambulance, Stiles was forced up inside the vehicle with the EMTs, while his mother stepped inside as well.  The doors were shut, the siren fired, and Stiles felt the vehicle moving off the field and onto the main road.

While the EMTs fussed with Stiles' head, re-checking his eyes, blood pressure, and pulse, a sudden thought crept up in Stiles' head.  

An annoying little thing he couldn't remember.

"Hey mom?" Stiles asked, huffing as an EMT kept flashing that stupid flashlight in his eyes.

Claudia wiped her bangs out of her hair, and clutched Stiles' hand tightly.  "Yes sweetie?  Does something hurt?  Do you need something?" she asked.

Flushing, Stiles cleared his throat, looking away.  "Did I...  I mean, did I make the kick?" Stiles asked, embarrassingly.  

 _"Since when do I care?!"_  Stiles thought to himself, unable to really explain the annoying feeling that he might have missed.

A low snort left the EMTs' faces, finding that very amusing.

Claudia smiled, just as amused by the question as the EMTs were.  "Of course you did, baby.  Of course you did.  10-0 at the half, and believe me when I say your friends are not letting them get another point the rest of the game.  Derek about cleaned that awful boy’s clock," she said, chuckling to herself as she pressed a gentle kiss on Stiles' forehead.  

“Good…” Stiles thought, breathing out an odd relief.


	5. Chapter 5

The trip to the hospital, overall, ended up being fairly uneventful.  After being forced into a hospital gown, checked and examined by several ER doctors, and one CAT scan later, and Stiles had finally been allowed into a private room.

Stiles rested his head against the hospital bed, with his eyes closed and trying to will away his pounding headache.

The ER doctor stood nearby with Stiles' parents, with a broad smile.  

"Dr. Deaton hit the nail on the head, as usual.  My inspections, Stiles' condition, and the CAT scan don't reveal any serious injuries that we should be concerned about.  I also doubt he has a concussion, and more or less got his clock cleaned, alongside the nasty bruise on his back," he said, signing off on a clipboard that he attached to the end of Stiles' bed.

Claudia sighed in relief.  "So then...  Everything's fine?  Anything we should be worried about?" she asked.

"What about school and sports?  Should he take some time off?" John asked.

Nodding, the ER doctor took a deep breath and glanced over to Stiles.  "Stiles will be fine, I'm just going to hold him overnight for observation to be on the safe side of things.  He's going to have a headache for a while, so I'd definitely keep him on bed rest for the weekend, and keep him out of school on Monday if he's still fatigued and has a headache.  A follow up with his primary doctor would also be prudent.  As for sports?  I'd recommend he not do anything too rigorous for a couple of days, or if he still has a headache, but by Wednesday, he should be fine and cleared for activity," he said, clapping his hands together.  "Now...  I have another patient I need to attend to, but if you need anything or have any questions, please don't hesitate to call the nurse.  If you'll excuse me," he answered, as John and Claudia thanked him generously, before turning back to Stiles.

Claudia moved to his side, taking his hand in hers.  "Sweetie, do you need anything?  Water?  Another pillow?" she asked kindly.

"Morphine, vicodin, and a gown that closes up in the back," Stiles snarked back, groaning as he rubbed his head again.  The pain had lessened, courtesy of some mild painkillers.  Though it wasn't gone, completely.

"No, no, and don't we all," John answered, grinning as he slapped Stiles on the knee.  "Well, son...  You'll be happy to know that the delinquent from Signal was ejected from the game, and will probably be banned for his next couple of games.  The officials were pissed off, and were already yelling about filing a report with the Athletics Association.  Well, that's what the gossip is, from Deputy Parrish, anyway," he explained.

Stiles felt his stomach roll over.  "The game!" he exclaimed, as his eyes shot open, and he looked to his father expectantly.  "What's the score?!  Are they doing okay?!" he asked, in a fervor.  Instinct took over, throwing embarrassment or subtly over being involved in sports out the window.

Claudia giggled, pulling out her cell phone from her jeans pocket.  Stiles could see from his angle the endless slew of text messages that covered the screen, though the contents were blurred to his eyes.  "31-0, with one minute left in the game.  Talia says they are giving these Warriors an, excuse my french, "a goddamn beatdown"," she said, with a quiet smirk.

Laughing, John nodded, with his own phone out as well.  "Boyd's dad says that Derek has scored practically everything since you were taken out of the game, and taking out his frustration on the Signal Academy linemen," he said, with a proud smile.

"Frustration?" Stiles asked, eyeing his father curiously.

"Oh, that's right...  I guess he didn't see that part," Claudia said, locking her phone and turning back to Stiles.  "Well, after you were injured, Derek and Coach Finstock came out on the field to check up on you, and that brute stepped on your back getting up, OBVIOUSLY on purpose.  There were more flags on that field than a fourth of July parade,”  she said, with a scathing tone.

John smirked.  "So Derek nearly cold cocked him in the head, if Finstock hadn't held him back in time.  Of course, Derek was pulled off the field after that, but apparently he found another way to get out that aggression," he answered.

Stiles blinked a couple of times, in disbelief.  "He...  What?" he asked, unable to accept that.  Sure, Derek was a top athlete, and one hell of a Quarterback, but he wasn't, under any circumstances, violent.  Hell, he'd never heard Derek raise his voice, let alone throw a punch.

"You've got one hell of a friend there, Stiles," John said, nodding proudly.

"I uh...  I.." Stiles stammered, unable to fathom an appropriate response.

Thankfully, a soft knock to the door interrupted thinking too deeply about Derek.

"Come in," Claudia said, standing up from her seating.  

Scott entered the room sheepishly, peeking through the door.  "Is Stiles still alive?  Or does this mean I can call claim to his video games?" he asked, with a joking smirk.

"Touch them and you die," Stiles answered, shooting Scott the best glare that he could.

Laughing, Scott came to Stiles' side, fist-bumping with Stiles when he was close enough.  "So...  Everything okay?  Anything, uh...  Serious?" he asked, cautiously.  His face fell with each word.

Claudia nodded.  "Everything is fine, Scott.  Just a little banged up," she answered for Stiles, before turning to John.  "We'll give you two some time to talk, and I'll call and let the team moms get an update.  They've been blowing up my phone since we left," she explained.

Stiles and Scott waited momentarily for Stiles' parents to take their leave, until the door finally shut firmly behind them.

In a flash, Scott turned to Stiles, pouting and crestfallen.  "Stiles, I am so sorry!  This is all my fault!" he called out, slamming himself down in the chair next to Stiles' hospital bed.

Stiles rose an eyebrow.  "W..  What, did you bribe that douche or something?" he asked, unsure of what Scott was talking about.  

Scott shook his head.  "No, this...  This bet!  I chose this stupid "punishment" because I thought you'd have fun and come out of your shell, and...  Well, instead, I got you knocked upside the head.  Hell, even worse, what if this had been more serious?!  You could have gotten a concussion, or something that messed with your head!" he exclaimed.

"Oh dear Lord..." Stiles said, rubbing the dull ache in his head.  "Please do not start playing the martyr and blame yourself.  This is NOT your fault, Scott.  I swear, if you get all blubbery and bawling like the time you stepped on my cat's leg, I'm going to vomit," he countered, sighing heavily.

"Dude...  She limped for a week after I stepped on her!" Scott countered, his face dropping even lower.

"She had arthritis, you moron!" Stiles fired back, groaning again.

A soft silence came between them, stopping as Scott glanced away and dropped his head.  "You...  You don't have to keep playing, Stiles...  The bet's off.  If you want to quit, you can quit.  I just...  I don't want you to feel obligated," he explained.

"You...  What?!" Stiles said, opening his eyes back up and glancing in Scott's direction.

Shrugging, Scott let out a deep sigh.  "You heard me.  If you want to quit, you can quit.  Nobody's going to blame you, after getting knocked around like that.  I mean, they might be disappointed, but in the end, they won't' blame you," he answered.

A deep silence filled the gap between them, neither speaking, neither acting.

"Uh...  Stiles, this is the part where you're supposed to cheer!  Right?" Scott said, laughing nervously.

Stiles bit his bottom lip.

"You said just today how you don't even like playing!  You were already ready to quit at the start of next year!  What's the problem?" Scott asked, glancing up and meeting Stiles' eyes.

Stiles' stomach turned icy cold, as anxiety permeated throughout his body.  

He couldn't possibly admit to Scott he only probably hated football 10% of the time.  Or that the thought of not seeing Derek or the team every day?  The thought of going back to those Saturdays, in the dark of his entertainment room, pretending that the characters on his screen were his friends, or holding a conversation with fictional beings?

Stiles jammed his hand against his chest, feeling his heart ache wildly.  Even worse, he pictured his Saturdays without Derek.  A real person, his friend, his teammate, and weight partner, who could really hold a meaningful conversation with.

Those bright Saturdays with the windows wide open, and the laughter filling the room, with the team and Scott over to hang out and talk shit for hours on end. 

"Stiles?  Jesus Christ, what's wrong?  What'd I say?!  Dude, you look like you're about to cry!" Scott said, watching Stiles' pained, broken expression spread throughout his body.

Glancing up, Stiles met Scott's eyes, breathing in and out quietly.

An awkward silence came between them, as Stiles rose his hand up, and "scratched" an itch in the general vicinity of his eyes.  He cleared his throat.

"I mean...  I did make a commitment.  They...  They'd be lost without me, you know...  Have you seen Greenberg try to kick?  He could barely kick a can, let alone a football!  I'd feel bad for the team if they had to deal with that all season!" Stiles said, clearing his throat.

Scott rose his head up, glancing at Stiles incredulously.  "W...  What?" he asked, in a deadpan.

"Besides, I mean...  I sort of need stuff to do.  What with you always being out with Allison on date nights, and leaving me alone like a dog...  Seriously, what kind of guy do you think I am?  I can only play Pokemon so many times before I'm seeing Pikachus in my sleep!  Football's not the worst waste of time, you know...  It's uh...  Good for my health and gives me some people to hang out when you ditch me, you...  You busy person, you!" Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.  His lie was so thinly veiled that not even the most naive of individuals believe him.

Scott slowly curved his lips into a smug smile.  He folded his arms.

"Then there's all the guys on the team.  They're not...  Terribad.  Only mildly annoying.  Smelly just after practice, and they're working on it, god bless their little hearts," Stiles finished, on the verge of rambling.

"Get the fuck out of here.  You LIKE football, don't you?!  You like the team!" he screamed, shooting up from his chair, and dropping his jaw.

"No?" Stiles answered, as if he were asking himself.

"Cut the bull!" Scott said, beaming from ear to ear.

Stiles laughed nervously.  "Me?  What would possibly make you think that me, of all people, would want to-"

"Stilinski!" Boyd called out.

Scott and Stiles both jumped, watching as a gaggle of players from the team made their way inside Stiles' hospital bedroom.  They'd all changed into casual clothing, but were still sweaty from the game, and Stiles could spot a few bruises forming on the linemen from the particularly rough game..  

 

_"You okay?!  Holy shit, that guy ran over you like a truck!" Isaac exclaimed loudly._

_"Stiles, you look terrible!  Oh my gosh, can I please cock that guy in the face?!" Allison screeched._

_"You...  You doing okay, Stiles?  You look rough," Jackson said, in an oddly concerned tone for the otherwise uptight male._

_"I am so sorry...  You deserved a better defense..." Boyd muttered, his eyes downtrodden._

 

The roar with the 20 or so players, and many others (including some of the kids in his class that weren't on the team, but were just as concerned) standing just outside the door was unbearably loud, as Stiles rubbed his head, with his headache returning with a vengeance.

"CHILDREN, PLEASE!" Talia exclaimed, clapping her hands together and effectively silencing the crowd.

Stiles turned to meet her eyes, and could spot Derek standing just beside her.  His hair dripped with sweat, while his body and muscles looked on the verge of collapse, bright red and strained to their limit.

"Everyone, why don't you give Stiles your best wishes, and then let him rest?  His mother has said he'll be able to go home tomorrow, and you can see him then!" Talia ordered, clapping her hands together, in an act of finality.

Taking his eyes off Derek for the time being, Stiles had a short conversation with a majority of the team, repeating the same few lines every couple of minutes.  

 

_"I'm fine."_

_"I can go back to school Tuesday."_

_"Yes, I'm okay if you guys seek out revenge on the Behemoth.”_

After ten minutes of well wishes, Stiles was grateful that only Scott, Talia, and Derek remained.  

Stepping up to Stiles' bed, Derek looked up and down Stiles' body, his face paling.  

"Stiles...  Are you really okay?  That guy, he...  He really slammed into you," Derek muttered, dropping his head and clenching his hand into a fist.

Nodding, Stiles put on a smile.  "Yeah, I'm fine, Derek.  A-okay!  Bueno!  My head is splitting open and I want to crawl in a hole and dieeeeeee," Stiles said, whining loudly in the end, and covering both halves of his forehead with his hands.

Derek cringed, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

Still grinning smugly, Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "Or maybe it's something else keeping you on the team," he whispered to himself, before patting Stiles on the shoulder.  "I'll leave you and Derek to talk.  You and me aren't done, by the way.  I'll get you to say I was totally right, just you wait," he said playfully.

After Scott took his leave, Derek turned to Stiles curiously.

"Long story," Stiles answered hesitantly.

Derek smiled.  "Everything with you is a long story," he said, before taking a seat down next to Stiles, where Scott had been earlier.  "We blew Signal out of the water, by the way.  Everyone agreed they had to pay.  You should have seen everyone, it was the best we've played all year!" he exclaimed eagerly.

"Seriously?  How was Greenburg?" Stiles asked, picturing his backup kicker and Liam try to work together.

"Surprisingly well," Derek responded, snorting quietly.  "He kicked Liam's hand though.  I swear, that Freshman is a bottle of unbridled rage.  You should've heard him swearing, and threatening to kick Greenberg's ass!" he said.

Derek and Stiles laughed loudly with each other, completely ignorant of Talia off in the background, watching them with a soft gaze.

The two spoke for the better part of an hour about the game that Stiles missed.  From Allison getting a penalty for running over a guy that tried to slam into her, to Isaac vaulting over a lineman by accident and scoring a touchdown, and sharing the thrilling story of Boyd and Jackson tag-teaming for massive running gains all night long.

Before Stiles realized it, he heard a soft knock to his hospital room door, where his mother stood in wait beside Talia.  She pointed up to the clock in the middle of the room, with it pointing to 11 PM.

"Visiting hours are up.  Actually, they were up a while ago, but Melissa pulled us some strings.  Though they're asking that we clear out as soon as possible, so that Stiles can get some rest," Claudia said.

Derek and Stiles' faces both dropped, as they exchanged a short pout.

"Well...  Sorry you got hurt, man.  If you're up for it, I'll come by tomorrow when you get home from the hospital.  I'm sure all the guys would like to come over too, but I can probably just bring over our crew," Derek said.

Stiles smiled.  "That'd be great.  I'll probably be bored out of my mind, and mom'll keep me laying down all down," he whispered begrudgingly.

"Excuse me for being worried!" Claudia said, huffing and exchanging a knowing glance with Talia.

Derek laughed warmly, standing up and clasping his hand on Stiles' shoulder.  "Dude, I'll bring Arby's to ease the pain.  Triple curly fries?" he asked.

Closing his eyes as he rested against the hospital pillow, Stiles hummed approvingly.  "Don't tell Scott, but you're my favorite," he joked quietly.

Both chuckled, while Talia and Claudia exchanged a motherly smile, winking at one and another with a soft chuckle.

"We'll be waiting outside, Derek," Talia said, patting Claudia on the shoulder and signaling for the two of them to exit.

Leaving their children behind, both mothers shut the door behind them and began the treck down the hallway .

"Talia, did my eyes deceive me, or are our sons..." Claudia asked, pausing as she turned to Talia.

A low chuckle left Talia's throat.  "Madly," she answered for Claudia.

Nodding, Claudia took a quiet breath.  "John will be shocked.  Not that he'll mind, John loves Stiles no matter what, but...  Well, our son was never that interested in dating, so it never really crossed our minds," she answered.

Talia sighed in relief.  "I'm happy to say that my son's browsing history, and one particularly difficult weekend saves me and Marc from the shock," she answered, with a low laugh.

"Oh Lord," Claudia said, covering her mouth, and stifling her own laugh.

Both mothers laughed as they traveled down the long hospital hallway.

 

+++++

 

After a relaxing Saturday with his friends, Stiles was able to go into Sunday and sleep the day away.  By Monday, he felt perfectly fine, but was still forced to go to the doctor and stay home from school.

By Tuesday, Stiles was cleared for practice, school, and everything in between.

Of course, coming back to school also meant a parade of well wishers from the faculty, students, and people he'd never even met before.  Hell, they'd even done a special spiel on the morning announcements, welcoming him back to school

When fifth period came around, Stiles was excited to finally have a little peace and return to normalcy.  Because with the "serious" threat of injury gone, Stiles' teammates and friends had taken it upon themselves to now tease him about being run over.  Isaac had gone as far as to take the film highlights, and add in cartoon sound effects to him getting hit.

Stiles had to shoot Derek a dark glare for laughing, but even Stiles cracked upwith the one that had the roadrunner "meep meep" and speed up effects.

After changing into his gym clothes, Stiles walked with his friends into the area just outside Finstock's office for some kind of special announcements.

"All I'm saying is that next time...  You know, you don't need to just stand still and get hit!  There are these things called FEET, Stiles.  They are capable of movement," Jackson said, squatting down on the weight room padding with the rest of their group.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "Thank you Jax.  I had no idea," he answered sarcastically.

"On the bright side, it sure as hell got Derek off his ass.  Think you'd be willing to take one for the team EVERY game, Stiles?" Isaac asked, winking in Stiles' direction.

Derek and Stiles both shoved Isaac to the ground beside him.

"ALL RIGHT, LISTEN UP STUDENTS OF BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL OF ALL PERSUASIONS," Finstock yelled, blowing his whistle and stepping out of his office, clipboard in hand.

"Now that Stilinski has graced us with his presence, I have a few announcements to make," Coach Finstock said, picking up a messily scribbled on notepad, and running his fingers through the list.  "First, and most notably, I'm happy to say that Beacon Hills is leading the conference, with an unprecedented 5-0 season so far!" he exclaimed, clapping wildly alongside the rest of the coaching staff.

Stiles grimanced from the noise level coming from the rest of the team, but couldn't help but clap along quietly in his own little corner.

Finstock rose up his hand.  "Secondly...  Our late as hell Homecoming will be on Game 7, and the Homecoming Court has requested on their football escorts for that day's Pep Ralley.  Senior Maids have picked Troy, Reynolds, Garnder, and Levitt," he said, noting to the larger linemen off to the side.  Going back to his notes, he eyed the scrawled message carefully.  "Juniors are George, Reeves, and Taylor," he said, nodding to the offensive linemen.  At last, he came to the Sophomore group in the back.  "Which leaves Argent, Non-Douchey Whittemore, and Stilinski for the Sophomores," he explained.

A lump formed in Stiles' stomach, as he felt the eyes of his Sophomore friends look at him excitedly.

"Wait...  What?" Stiles muttered to himself, flushing wildly.

Allison smirked.  "Aww...  Lydia kept her promise to me!” she said, clapping her hands together excitedly.

"Non-douchey Whittemore?  Seriously?" Jackson said, shoving his brother in the arm, as Isaac beamed excitedly.

"Congrats, man," Derek said, clapping his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

Finstock blew his whistle, ending the cascade of murmurings surrounding the area.

"If you're an escort, get with Mrs. Bewley, who's organizing Homecoming.  They'll be pictures, suits, bullshit, and whatnot for the Pep Rally.  Their parents will escort them on the night of the game.  Make sure to look good, and not totally embarass us like last year.  No rabbit ears, for God's sake," Finstock said, shaking his head.

"One time!" a Senior yelled off in the distance, earning a quick laugh from the group.

Finstock rolled his eyes.  "Cram it Leblanc," he said, grabbing a stack of papers from one of his assistants, and handing them out to the players on the team.  "Last but not least, we all know this week's game is in the godforsaken town of Amber Ridge, the 3 hour bus drive from hell!" he yelled.

Morbid groans escaped the team's mouths, and Stiles glanced up to Derek for an explanation, who had all but gone into a state of severe depression.

"Small town.  They can't afford to bus players, so all the teams have to go to them.  Worst team in the conference, and they don't even really try anymore.  Mercy Rule by halftime, every game.  What's worse is that it's no fun, it's 3 hours up there to play the game, and 3 hours back.  Like he said, it's Hell," Derek explained.

"Not AS hellish this year, Hale," Finstock said, handing the two pieces of paper out to both Stiles and Derek.

Glancing over the paper, Stiles made out "Overnight School Sponsored Activity Permission Slip" before Finstock blew his whistle, grabbing everyone's attention.

"LISTEN UP.  For once in our miserable lives, the Principal and School Board are letting us actually book a hotel and stay overnight in Amber Ridge.  After last year's fiasco with the bus driver nearly passing out from exhaustion at 2 in the morning, they decided it's better if we just make it a School Activity!" Finstock announced, throwing the remainder of the papers onto the floor, and huffing loudly.  "So on Friday, we will play Amber Ridge, and we'll go straight to the Amber Lodge after the game.  Chaperones WILL be there to stalk you, so no booze, no horsing around, and no going out and doing things that they teach you in Sex Ed," he said, before holding in his breath and rubbing his forehead irritatingly.  "Then we will have a "Nature Walk", a "team bonding picnic", and meet up with Amber Ridge's players for a friendly intra-school training session that Saturday morning, and be back in Beacon Hills by that evening," he explained.

The whole team glared at Finstock, with incredulous looks in their eyes.  The groans  were more like low growls, ending with Isaac standing up and booing loudly.

Finstock threw his hands up.  "Hey!  I agree!  Stupid as hell, but they're not covering the hotel bill without us doing something educational and involving team building!  So don't blame me!  Blame your school's lousy budget, your PTA, or write your senator!  I don't care!" he exclaimed.

The team followed through with another loud set of groans, as Finstock rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay...  Enough whining, you babies.  Offense, you're on weights today!  Defense, out in the field for drills!  Move it!" Finstock yelled, clapping his hands together loudly, while blowing on his whistle in tune with the claps.

Grumbles went back and forth between the team members, while Stiles clambered up with Derek, as the two made their way over to the leg weights.

"So Stiles...  You want to room up on the trip?  Out of everyone, I'd probably hate sharing a bed with you the least," Derek said casually, before covering his mouth and blowing every profane word through his mind in unified terror.

Stiles, missing the unintentional innuendo, turned over to Derek, raising an eyebrow.  "Huh?  Share a room?" he asked, curiously.  

Still bright red, Derek stopped with Stiles at the leg press.  Taking his turn first, Derek sat down on the machine, as Stiles moved to add Derek's usual weight on the machine's back.  With ease, Stiles could lift the heavier weights, as his arms strained against the gym shirt he'd been using for years.

"We did an away trip last year too, at the end of the year during playoffs and the state tournament.  The school makes everyone double up on beds.  Check the permission slip to be sure, but our school is cheap as hell," Derek explained, grunting as he started pressing his legs up and back, starting on his first set.

Grabbing the paper he's crumpled in his athletic shorts, Stiles unfurled it.

 

_Name:                                            Age:                                       Grade Level:_

_Trip Chaperone(s):  Bobby Finstock, Talia Hale, Marcus Boyd, John Stilinski_

_Predetermined Roommate*:_

_*For cost savings, each student will share a 1 bed hotel room.  Please send bedding material or a sleeping bag if such arrangements are unacceptable._

Ignoring the fact that his father, of all people, had volunteered as a chaperone, Stiles turned a deep red as the realization hit him.

"Oh..." Stiles said, nodding in Derek's direction.  "Y..Yeah, we share a bed," he answered quietly.

Derek kept going, starting his second set without much of a break.  His face, like Stiles', was far off and a mild shade of red.  "So...  Uh, yeah, like I was saying, I'd love to be roommates with you.  Jackson snores like a train, Isaac farts if he's had pizza, Boyd's an insomniac who stays up all night, and I'm about 100% sure that they won't let me room with Allison.  I've stayed over at your place enough to know you're the best choice.  You...  You okay with that?" he asked, gulping quietly.

Stiles, most definitely, was not picturing him and Derek in the same bed.  We was not picturing a lack of clothing, or him curled up on Derek's chest, or anything like that.  

No, never.  Not in a million years.

"Sure!  That'd be awesome.  I’ll bring my tablet for Netflix, and my DS for classic Mario games.  Sleeping together isn’t a big deal either, I mean, we've practically slept on top of each other at my house before!" Stiles said, laughing nervously.

Derek flushed.  He was most definitely, not picturing him and Stiles on those lazy Sundays, waking up after a Saturday sleepover, with Stiles limbs flailed out all over Derek's body.  Or that one morning when Stiles had somehowe managed to get his head right on Derek's lap.

So caught up in not picturing things, both he and Derek failed to realize that Derek had gone about twice over his required leg presses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me now if you're enjoying the story, and I love feedback! Your support and commentary keeps me going! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles downgraded his hatred of football to a mere 5%.  All 5% which belonged to the traveling bus reserved exclusively for the athletics department.  An outdated, rusted down (and grossly faded) bus that had been retired from the school's typical fleet back in the early 90's, but kept around since it was still *somewhat* functional.  It only broke down once every couple of weeks.

Sitting in the far back with his typical crew, Stiles tried to ignore the smell of stale sweat, the stink of mold, and the lumpy seats that made his butt sore.  Normally bearable for the shorter trips, the 3 hour drive to Amber Ridge was as horrific as Derek and the rest had promised.  Made even harder, considering the backroads they had to take to get to their destination, which bumped them every which way here and there.

Instead of bitching (as Finstock kept doing in the front with the driver), Stiles kept his attention on the current conversation at hand, with Allison and Isaac too giddy for their own good after the news with Homecoming Escorts.

"It's so cute!  You should see the dresses that Lydia and I are wearing for the pep rally!  Hers is a jade green, and mine is a really light turquoise.  Though the coordinator is pissed because we look WAY better than the Senior Maids," Allison said, clapping her hands together excitedly.  She sat in front of Isaac and Jackson, who in turn sat in front of Derek and Stiles.  

The group laughed in unison, save for Jackson, who had been sullen as a bull frog in his own little corner.

 

"I'm surprised you took Lydia on her offer for being in the court with her.  You're dating Scott, right?  How's he feel about that?" Jackson asked, with his arms folded tightly.  Since the announcement of the Homecoming Escorts, he'd been in a fouler mood than usual, much to everyone's annoyance.  Naturally, the "non-douchy Whittemore" took offense to not being selected, though they all knew the REAL reason he was in such a bad mood.

Allison rolled her eyes, leaning over the seat and poking Jackson on the cheek.  "Jackson, Lydia and I have been best friends since we were babies.  She promised me that if she was voted to Homecoming Court, she'd pick me as an escort, since no other girl in our class would pick another girl as a football escort.  Scott knows that, and he's fine with it," she said, patting Jackson on the shoulder.  "I'm not "stealing" Lydia from you.  So you should REALLY just put on your big boy undies and go ask her out.  You're both smug, over-confident, proud, and have egos the size of Derek's shoulders.  Perfect for each other," she answered playfully.

"Asshole," Jackson spat back, turning his gaze away to stare out the bus window.

Stiles and the group laughed at Jackson's expense, while Stiles beamed playfully.  The rest of the guys surrounding them joined in on the laughter, and conversation.

Of which, one of the lineman smacked Stiles on the shoulder proudly.

"Though what about Stilinski and Heather Daniels?  I doubt there's "nothing" there.  I heard she got to pick her escort for Homecoming first in the Sophmore class AND picked Stilinski out in a heartbeat," a player behind them said, slapping Stiles on the back with a broad smile.

Another team member beside them whistled inappropriately.  "Dude, Heather Daniels is crushing on you, hard core!  Everyone knows she's been after you all year!  Go after that, she's hot as hell!  You should totally ask her to the Homecoming dance!" he shouted.

"Naw, I bet our man Stilinksi has already got her number!  Ten bucks says this guy's a sly motherfucker, and this shy shit is all an act!" another player yelled from far back.

Loud murmured agreements in the region around them, except for Stiles' friends, seemed to be agreeing.

Stiles, however, felt a pit in his stomach.  Nothing against Heather, naturally, she was a lovely woman and very kind, but he wasn't exactly interested in her gender.  Furthermore, he already had someone else he was interested in.  Not that it would ever be reciprocated, but hell, Stiles could dream.

"I uh..." Stiles muttered, attempting to ignore the fervor of players willing to be his wingman and "hook him up".  

Caught up in his own mind, Stiles missed Derek's forlorn expression, as he dropped his head and glanced out the window.  The man's usually broad smile diminished into a sullen, grumpy expression.  He and Jackson could almost look like twins, from the mutual frustrations.  With each member of his team cheering Stiles and Heather on, his fist curled tighter and tighter, turning his knuckles a hot white.

Allison and Isaac shot nasty glares (mostly Allison and her gaze of death) at the players around them, essentially silencing the conversation.  The groups went back into their own conversations, as Stiles and his group cut themselves off from the rest.

"I don't think they'd be a good match," Jackson said, turning to Stiles and Derek, still with a grumpy glare on his face.  "Heather's great, but Stiles needs someone more...  Homey.  Heather likes partying, she's on the cheerleading squad, and is really super outgoing.  Stiles is an introvert, likes to stay home, and... It'd never work out.  Bad idea all around," he explained.

Isaac nodded in agreement with his brother as he turned around to talk with Derek and Stiles, as well.  "I agree.  Besides, Stiles deserves someone that he'll get along with!  Someone he's a great friend with!  Someone that can put up with his sharp tongue, and who he gets along well with!" he said, glaring at the back of Derek's head.  The quarterback kept his sulled self staring out the window and tapping his foot anxiously.

"Guys..." Stiles said, holding up his hands, VERY uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

Allison popped her head back, with an uneasy smile.  "How about we talk about something else?  Anything else?" she said, in "the tone".  

Jackson and Isaac sighed painfully, but nodded as the turned back to their own seats, starting a conversation with Allison.  While they did, Stiles and Derek were left with a silent shared bus seat, as minutes passed without any attempt at conversation.  Derek's gaze went outside the bus window, not daring to meet with Stiles'.  

Even with the low roar of the rest of the team speaking animatedly, Stiles couldn't stand the lack of conversation between him and Derek.  

"What's the matter with you, grumpy pants?" Stiles asked, elbowing Derek in the side.

Sighing, Derek shook his head.  "Nothing.  Headache," he answered, rather bluntly.  Short, quick answers that wasn't like Derek's usually warm self.

"Come on!  What's the deal?  Is this Amber Ridge game pissing you off that badly?" Stiles asked, putting on a weak smile.  

"Sure," Derek mumbled.  Again, with the curt response.  His voice seemed deeper, thick with annoyance.

Stiles rose an eyebrow.  "Derek, seriously, what's the problem?  You're normally pumped for games, and you were fine ten minutes ago.  What crawled up your ass?" he asked, attempting to maintain a lighthearted attitude.

Letting out a deep sight, Derek shook his head and turned back to face Stiles.  His face was blank, emotionless, and far away on another planet.

"It's a long story, Stiles.  Even worse, it's me being stupid.  I shouldn't even be thinking like this, it's not fair to anyone," Derek muttered.

"We've still got two hours to drive, Derek.  I'm not going anywhere, and if it's making you that pissed off, it's not something stupid.  So spill it," Stiles said, folding his arms.  He tried to imitate Allison's glare of death, which more or less just gave him the expression of constipation.

A low smile covered Derek's face, though not one reflecting happiness.  No, the smile was broken, displaying the same level of hurt that Derek's soft eyes radiated.

"You're...  You're a really good guy, Stiles.  I mean that too, you're one of the best friends I've ever had," Derek said, in a low, rough chuckle.

Stiles lowered his arms, trying to read into Derek's face.  If he didn't know any better, Stiles would recognize that sad face.  It was one that Stiles wore every weekend when Scott had other plans, and he was cramped up in his entertainment room.

"Der?" Stiles asked, unsure of where all this was coming from.

Derek opened up his mouth, let out a mild cracked sound as if wanting to say something, and promptly slammed it shut.  He let out a sigh, shaking his head.

"I'm in a bad mood, that's all.  Everything's fine, Stiles.  Everything...  Will be fine," Derek muttered, before turning back outside to the window.

"You sure?  You look like hell, Derek," Stiles said, casting a cautious glare Derek's way.

"I'll be fine," Derek muttered back.

Based on the way Derek said it, and on the way the man's eyebrows had taken a life all on their own, Stiles wasn't sure that Derek was being completely truthful.

Still, maybe everything was actually okay, and Derek would be back to his old self sooner than later.  Stiles nodded pleasantly enough in Derek's direction, and tried to shut his eyes and get some rest before that night's game.

 

++++++

 

Everything was NOT fine, and Derek was a dirty liar.

The Amber Ridge Cardinals, the worst team in their conference, had the lead going into the second quarter, 6-0 over the Silver Wolves.  The Beacon Hills fanbase that had trekked the 3 hours were beyond consolation, screaming and shouting at the team to "get their head in the game".

Not that it was actually the team.  While Stiles sat on the end of the Amber Ridge football field's player wooden benches, he had a perfect ringside seat to watch Derek play the worst game of football that Stiles had ever watched.  

Derek's sloppy pass to Allison had gone straight into a Amber Ridge player's hands, who was able to run it back for a touchdown, but they missed the extra kick thanks to also having the worst kicker in the conference.  He had fumbled the ball twice, giving it back to Amber Ridge.  He couldn't pass, was getting pummelled with tackles, and couldn't even hand off the ball to Jackson or Isaac without it slipping in his hands.  The Beacon Hill's defense was working overtime, with the offense unable to make any meaningful advance or score any kind of goal.

The most recent play, especially, had been bad, as Derek fell back to throw a pass.  Unfortunately, he let the ball go too soon, where it veered up into the sky, and into out of bounds, not ten feet away.  Stiles could practically hear the BHHS fans screaming in the stands, on full revolt.

"What's with Derek?  Holy shit, he's playing like he's not even there," Liam muttered next to Stiles, in just as much disbelief as anyone else on the team.

Stiles shook his head.  "I dunno...  He said he was in a bad mood on the bus, but..." he muttered, watching Derek getting chewed out by Coach Finstock again for yet another sloppy play.  With his helmet off, Stiles could take in good stock of his friend's eyes.  They were vacant, lifeless.  Like Liam said, it was like Derek wasn't even on the football field, lost in his own head, and in some fantasy world.

"DUNBAR!" Finstock screeched, as he pulled Derek over to the section of the bench with the second string players.  Standing over Stiles and Liam, Finstock nodding in Derek's direction.  "Dunbar, you're in.  We're going to give Derek a break, and a chance to get his shit together.  Until he's back with us, you're quarterback," he ordered.

Liam's face paled considerably, but he strapped on his helmet and jogged off to the field to take over for offense.  In the meantime, Derek slammed himself down on the bench, swearing under his breath and throwing his helmet into the ground.  The rest of the second string backed **far** away, giving Stiles and Derek a wide berth, looking a tad nervous at seeing Derek in such an agitated state.

Stiles kept to himself for a bit, giving Derek a chance to relax.  The last thing he needed was probably a reminder about his sorry playing.  Instead, he focused on Liam's plays.  While not as experienced as Derek, Liam managed to get the Silver Wolves up the field farther than Derek had that night.  Though that could mostly be thanked to Isaac and Jackson, whose running game got several short gains in a quick succession.  At least he wasn't fumbling.

A low growl left Derek's throat, while he rubbed his face with both hands, mumbling a wide variety of colorful language.

Turning to Derek, Stiles watched him cautiously.  "Derek?  You okay there, buddy?" he asked quietly.

Derek shook his head.  "No...  I'm not," he said, sighing exasperatedly.

Stiles tilted his head.  "What's the matter with you?  Come on, you can tell me, you know," he explained, patting Derek on his kneepads.  

With pursed lips, Derek collapsed his head into his hands, letting out a low groan.  "No, I can't..." he grumbled angrily.

A loud cheer from the fans caught Stiles off gaurd, but he shook the noise away.  Stiles took his hands away from Derek, crestfallen.  "Der...  Come on, what's wrong?  Man, I'm worried about you," he whispered quietly.

"STILINSKI!  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, WE SCORED!" Finstock yelled, grabbing Stiles by the collar and yanking him up from the bench.  

"AH!  Coach!" Stiles squawked, as he was thrown out into the field.  He jogged out to his spot on the field, glancing back to see Derek still lost in his head.

Shaking off his head, Stiles stepped beside Liam, who'd already placed himself for the extra kick.

Liam's face, too, was focused on Derek's expression.  "He okay?" he asked.

Stiles shook his head.  "No...  I don't know what's up with him either," he muttered.  

"Shit...  Oh, and don't kick my hand," Liam said, squatting down into position.  

"One time," Stiles muttered weakly, taking several steps backwards.  

Taking a deep breath, Stiles tried to focus.  Though his mind was elsewhere, thinking back to Derek, and his worry.

 _"What's Derek's problem?  Is there trouble with his grades?  Did he have a fight with his mom or dad?  Did I say something to offend him?"_ Stiles thought to himself.

A whistle blew loudly, and Stiles jolted back to life.  The snap was thrown to Liam, who grabbed the ball and set it into position.  Running forward, Stiles lined up his foot, and kicked the ball high up into the air.  The ball shot awkwardly in front of Stiles, hit the goal post, but barely managed to weave inside the goal, for an extra point.  

There was a round of applause and cheer from the Beacon Hills fans, but Stiles couldn't take the scene away from his mind.  Had there been even the slightest blowing of wind, he would have missed that extra point.  Hell, he should have missed that.  That was the worst kick he'd done all season. 

Stiles gritted his teeth, patted on the back (much less enthusiastically) by Liam as he and the rest of the special team left the field.

Before he could reach the bench, Stiles was stopped by Finstock.

"Stilinski...  You okay?  What's going on between you and Hale tonight?  You're both out there, and I'm concerned," Finstock asked, in a quiet, worried whisper.

Stiles glanced back to Derek, still sulking on the bench.  The rest of the team gave him some space, but Allison had gone over and was immersed in a soft conversation with him.

"I...  Don't know," Stiles answered back.

Taking in a deep breath, Finstock shook his head.  "Take Hale to the locker room, and both of you take the rest of the quarter off for a breather.  Talk it out, get some rest, get some water, and...  When we come out for the second half, I want both of you back on your feet, on the field, and not in la-la land.  Dunbar and Greenburg can take your places until then," he explained.

Nodding, Stiles agreed.  

While Greenberg went out to prepared to kick the ball back to the opposite team, Stiles walked over to where Derek and Allison were speaking in hushed tones.  Yet, the closer he got, the more he could make out of their conversation.

_"...it's stupid, Allison.  Just picturing them together is driving me crazy, and  I know it's stupid, but I'm mad, and I can't help it.  It's how I feel," Derek spat out._

_"Then just TELL him, Derek!  You're never going to get over this unless you say how you feel!  Besides, did you SEE his face?  He's not interested in Heather!  You have nothing to worry about the guys setting Stiles up with Heather, because Stiles isn't going to go through with it," Allison shot back._

_"I KNOW THAT!  I KNOW THAT, ALLISON, BUT IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING!" Derek roared back, clearly on the verge of completely losing._

Stiles reached the two of them, as they both cut their conversation short.

"Coach says for you and me to take a break in the locker room 'till half," Stiles explained.

Allison shot Derek a scathing glare before helping him up off the bench and pushing him in Stiles' direction.  "Go on, Derek.  You take a nice long break and talk things out!  Or else!" she said in "the tone", slapping him on the back of his shoulder pads.  

Joining Stiles' side, Derek took a deep gaze into Stiles' eyes, before turning away.  They walked off, side-by-side, towards the visitor's locker room at the far end of the field.

 

+++++

 

Amber Ridge's visitor locker room (more like a typical bathroom with lockers and rusted out showers) lit up as Stiles switched back on the lights.  Derek slammed his helmet down on a wooden bench, before running his hands through his thick black hair and stepped up to the lockers, trying to will himself inside one. 

Following suit, Stiles took his helmet off, placing it right next to Derek's.

"I uh...  I caught a bit of what you and Allison were talking about.  Were you guys talking about me?" Stiles asked.

Stepping up to a locker, Derek stopped and let out a soft groan.  "Yes, Stiles...  We were," he answered, darkly.

Stiles nodded, taking in a deep breath, and taking a seat on the bench, next to his and Derek's helmets.  

"You're mad...  Because the guys wanted me to go out with Heather?" Stiles asked, curiously.  What sense did that make?  Did Derek have a thing for Heather?

"Not...  Exactly," Derek answered, exasperated.  He kept his eyes far away from Stiles, focused intently on the locker in front of him.  

"Oh...  Uh, well that makes...  No sense at all, I'm sorry I'm not following this," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his  neck slowly.  "Can you just tell me what's going on in that head of yours?  I mean...  Come on, we're friends, right?  What's so bad that you can't tell me what's going on?" he asked, standing up from the bench and eying Derek with a low frown.  "Derek...  Whatever's bothering you is REALLY bothering you.  I mean, come on, you've told me time after time how important football is to getting you into college!  This "thing" is messing with that, so...  Come on!  Tell me!  I'll help you through it, I swear!" he insisted.

Derek knocked his head gently into the visitor's locker.  "Stiles...  I....  I can't...  I can't say it, okay?  I just can't!  You don't understand, if you knew, then I'd..." he stuttered out, huffing to himself.

"Why not?!" Stiles exclaimed, shaking his head.  "Derek, you've helped me through all this mess with football.  You supported me, helped me with weight training, and got me to where I am today.  I owe you, big time!  So let me help you!" he shouted.

Derek spun around instantly, making eye contact with Stiles.  "If I tell you, you'll quit the team.  If I tell you, and it gets out, everyone will...  Abandon me.  If I tell you, it'll ruin everything.  We'd quit being friends, and I just...  I don't want to do this.  It's stupid for me to feel like this, I know it is.  I'm acting like an immature brat, crying over something he can't get, but I...  I can't help it," he explained, painfully.

Stiles stepped backwards, surprised by the outburst.  "Derek..." he whispered.  Curling his hand into a fist, Stiles stood his ground, baring back at Derek's gaze.  "I won't leave.  I won't quit.  I swear," he said, feeling his nerves fire back and forth across his body.

 

_"What is this feeling?  Looking at Derek, I see...  I see the same look I have.  That same sadness, the same frustration, the same everything!  The way he talks, it's the same conversation I've had with Scott dozens of times!  The same fear, the same anger, the same everything!  He...  He couldn't...  There's no way he feels the same way..." Stiles thought to himself._

 

"You promise?" Derek said, curling his hand into a fist as well.  

Stiles nodded silently.  "I promise, Derek.  There's nothing you can say that I wouldn't...  Understand," he answered.

Breathing in and out quietly, Derek's let out soft, painful laugh, and spun around.  He stayed silent for several minutes, as the sound of cheering outside the locker room signaled someone scoring a touchdown.  The room shook from the vibrations of the artillery shell firing into the air.

"Stiles..." Derek muttered, before he took in the deepest gulp of air he could find.  

In anticipation, Stiles held his breath, watching Derek break into a tiny smile.

"I've had a crush on you since we were kids.  I've...  I've always really liked you," Derek admitted.

The deep gulp of air wasn't enough for Stiles.  He needed three times the air in order to fathom what he'd just heard.  His face went pale, while his fist uncurled, as years of tension poured out of him in droves.

"Back in elementary school, I always wanted to be your friend, but I was too shy to do anything about it.  Besides, you and Scott were already so close, I felt like...  Like I'd just be an outsider," Derek admitted, shaking his head.  "In middle school, when I...  When I realized I liked guys, I knew I liked you more than just as a friend.  You...  Were my type, I guess.  My mom and dad can testify to that, stupid browsing history..." Derek admitted, as his face flushed.  He didn't look up to see Stiles' bewildered expression.  "Plus, you were funny in class.  You made me laugh, especially that bit you did in seventh grade science when we dissected frogs," he said, chuckling colorfully to himself.

"Oh my God..." Stiles muttered, as a haunting memory came back to him..  Back then, his rendition of "Hello My Baby" with the frog was louder than he realized, and the whole class (and teacher) had gone into hysterics over it.  

Derek bit his bottom lip, slinking down the locker and sitting against it.  He buried his head into folded arms and continued to laugh.

"Never thought I'd have the courage to say any of that...  Or admit this, to be honest," Derek muttered, softening his laughter.  "Of course though...  When you joined the team, I had to get to know the real you.  The smart, snarky, cute, shy, and amazing you.  I...  I can't lie to you, you're my best friend I've got now.  I...  I feel like I could tell you anything, so..." he said, taking in a deep breath.

Stiles felt his chest thump rapidly.  He shook, as Derek rose his head up, with wet eyes and a glimmering smile.

"I love you, man.  I love you," Derek spat out, in rapid succession.  He laughed, dropping his head and turning away.  "I'm sorry.  Please...  Please don't freak out.  Don't...  Don't go away, okay?  I...  I'll get over this.  I won't bother you, I swear..." he said, as his voice cracked painfully.

Stiles' eyes dilated, as he accidentally backed into his and Derek's helmets.  #14 and #3 helmets scattered across the room, leaning on top of each other.

"Oh my God, you hate me," Derek said, standing up and bee-lining for Stiles.  He put his hands on Stiles' shoulders, bowing his head.  "I'm sorry!  I'm sorry, Stiles!  I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable!  I'm sorry!  I should have never said anything you-"

"too..." Stiles whispered, in a hushed tone.  

Derek, missing Stiles' words, silenced himself.  He focused on Stiles' beet red face, and his trembling smile.    "What'd you say?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"Lo...ve....  Yo...u...  Too..." Stiles muttered again.  He glanced up, letting out an excited, happy laugh.  "Love you too, Derek...  I...  I love you too!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around Derek's midsection and crushing him with the tightest hug he could manage.

Too stunned to respond, Derek absentmindedly put his arms around Stiles as well, and found it very difficult to breath.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh! What an evil cliffhanger to leave you guys at! Though I promise the next chapter will MORE than makeup for it! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Derek and Stiles kept firmly attached to one and other since their mutual admission of affection.  Neither moved from the tight embrace, and Stiles buried himself into what little bit of Derek's chest was exposed from his uniform.  Derek, equally clingy, had his arms and hands tightly gripped onto Stiles’ pads.

"Sorry, I'm just going to double check something.  I've had this dream before," Derek said, clearing his throat while he tightened his grip on Stiles.  

"Same," Stiles muttered, blushing from his forwardness he’d just displayed.  Yet, the mere idea of Derek actually liking him back?  Too much happy overloaded his system, and he'd lost it entirely.

Derek took in a deep breath, bonked his head against Stiles', and smiled brightly as their noses touched.  "I just admitted that I loved you, and you just admitted that you love me.  We...  Love each other?" he asked, weakly.  So quietly, as if the mere concept waited to fly away into the aether.

"Yep," Stiles answered, with a smile just as bright as Derek's.

"I see," Derek replied, gulping.  

They both let out a mutual chuckle, and they both gripped tightly into the jersey fabric of the other.  

"You like me!" Derek exclaimed.

"No...  You like me?!" Stiles fired back, his incredulous glare in sheer disbelief.

Derek nodded fervently.  "Yes!  Stiles, you are...  You're amazing!  You're the smartest guy I know, you are incredibly skilled in games, and you have the kind of "give zero fucks" attitude that I'd give my left nut for!  How could I not like you?!" he shot back.

"ME?!  Amazing!?  Fuck that, you're the local teenage celebrity!  You can have ANYONE you want!  You're the football star, the shining personality, and everyone's best friend!  You’re the gentle giant, and the nicest guy in school!" Stiles fired back.

Derek laughed, throwing his arms around Stiles' neck and hugging him for all he could manage.  "Well, if I can have anyone, like you said, then I choose you, Stiles-chu!" he joked, with wet eyes, a broad smile, and a snicker at his gaming humor.

"Jesus Christ, you did NOT just make a pokemon joke to ask me to be your boyfriend!  That is the single dorkiest thing I've ever heard!" Stiles exclaimed, laughing just as loudly and throwing his arms around Derek's chest.  "I think I love you more now," he said, in a deep, contented sigh.

They squeezed tightly for the hundredth time, fearful to break their new connection.  

At least, until Derek leaned down, tilted Stiles' head up, and smashed their lips together.

Stiles' eyes went wild, but shut in unison with Derek's as he kissed right back, their lips warming up from the chilly locker room, and their adrenaline flowing in droves.

Derek's heart beat rapidly as he ran his hands up Stiles' jersey, and underneath his compression shirt.  He trailed them over the newly defined ridges of a muscular abdomen, and forced them onto Stiles' sides, to keep them balanced and anchored to the ground.  He held tightly, gently massaging the spots and rocking their bodies together.

In turn, Stiles pushed Derek backwards,until the quarterback slammed up against the locker, and Stiles deepened their kiss.  He melted into Derek's face, taking control of the kiss and settling his hands on Derek's buttocks, squeezing through the thin polyester football pants.  Dreaming of groping Derek’s soft curves was one thing, but actually feeling that bubbled ass was a thousand times better.

"Mmmm..." Derek grumbled through their kiss, moving his hands to Stiles' equally round ass, and gently palmed at them.

Caught off guard, Stiles let loose a hitched breath, but began grinding into Derek's hands in a steady rhythm.  

Both men could feel their body heat rising, as steam billowed off them in the cold wintery temperatures.  The locker behind them clattered in tune with their movements, generating a creaking, whining noise that echoed through the changing area.

Stiles came up for air, breathing in and out heavily.  "D..  Der...  Holy shit, that was..." he said, brightly.

Derek's bright smile said it all, as he panted for air.  "Y...  Yeah.  Dude, I...  I can't believe this is real!" he said, shaking his head as he gulped.  "Oh, uh...  I may have jumped the gun, but...  Stiles, will you go out with me?" he asked, with a nervous chuckle.

Stiles rolled his eyes, chuckling right back.  "Of course, you dork.  Now shut up and keep kissing me," he barked, grabbing Derek's jersey and pulling him back in for another heated kiss.

Though they both traveled away from lips, exploring other regions nearby.  Derek planted his lips on Stiles' neck, sucking and kissing hard while Stiles did the same to Derek's neck.  They both chuckled as they did so, with Derek discovering a ticklish spot on Stiles' neck, which the smaller man giggled at.

Unfortunately, not a few minutes into their makeout session, were they broken up by the low roar of their team jogging into the locker room, fresh off the field from halftime.

Stiles and Derek separated, a little annoyed by the interruption, but took seats right next to each other on the nearest bench they could find.  

Piling inside, the team all took turns staring at the two of them.  Stiles was a little confused as to the bewildered, shocked, and otherwise peculiar glances on their team’s faces.  Even Jackson and Isaac exchanged looks of utter disbelief, but both grinned slyly.  Allison took off her helmet, dropped her jaw, and smiled fondly in their direction, winking at Derek..

“What’s their deal?” Stiles whispered.

“No idea…  Allison looks giddy, that can’t be good,” Derek whispered back.

Last but not least was Finstock, who game into the room, and rose an eyebrow at Stiles and Derek before shaking his head and moving to the middle of the room.

"Okay, my individuals by whom I get a paycheck for supervising, I'll be honest.  First half?  We had a rough time.  We're in the lead now, but there were a select few of us on offense that had their head in the clouds.  We played some good defense, and I'm damn proud of you linemen," Finstock said, clapping his hand together.  "I'll keep it short and sweet.  Second half?  Go out there and really give it your all.  No distractions, no drama, nothing!  Play like you mean it, and don't think of these guys as a low ranked team.  Because, honestly?  They had you guys running scared for a bit, and that can be any team we ever play.  Don't underestimate anyone, anytime!" he exclaimed.

The team murmured out some small brand of an agreement, all still staring at Stiles and Derek.  Most smiled, chuckled, or fist bumped behind their backs in a low excitement.

"Why are they looking at us?" Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged.  "No idea.  Maybe they're happy because I don't look like a sullen asshole?" he answered.

"Oh yeah...  What really was with you out on the field?  You weren't really playing all that well," Stiles retorted.

Snorting, Derek chuckled under his breath.  "Maybe because I was worried about not ever having you, and picturing you at the Homecoming Dance, wrapped around someone else’s arms.  I mean, you have your pick of anyone.  Have you seen yourself lately?" he whispered, gently tracing his fingers on top of Stiles'.

Blushing, Stiles laughed the compliment off.  "Yes, because people are lining up to see the guy who's memorized all of Final Fantasy 12's bullshit mechanics," he answered playfully.

Derek shook his head.  "No, I'm talking more about your-"

"Hale!" Finstock exclaimed, as he plopped himself down on the bench, next to Derek.

Both Derek and Stiles jumped a little at the sudden intrusion.

Finstock smacked the gum in his mouth, taking in a deep breath and slapping Derek on the shoulderpads.  "Hale, you back in this game now, or do I leave Dunbar in?  Need an answer, and I need a good one," he asked.

Derek smirked.  "I'm back in.  Sorry, Coach, I’m good to go!" he answered, enthusiastically.

"Good!  Nice to have you back down on earth with us!  Next time you take a trip out of your head, make it local!" Finstock yelled, before turning to Stiles.  "How about my kicker?  Is he back with us too?" he asked.

Stiles nodded.  "Yes, Coach.  Ready to go," he answered, nodding firmly.

"Excellent!  Well, everyone make sure and stay good and hydrated, and stay warm.  We'll head back out soon for warm ups and stretching," Finstock said, before popping up from the bench, and moving around to talk shop with the rest of his players.

Derek and Stiles awkwardly sat during the rest of halftime.  With everyone in the locker room staring at them, they couldn't exactly continue where they'd left off.  Nor could they really discuss much in the way of their relationship, or how it would move forward.  

"We're going to have to tell everyone eventually, you know," Derek whispered.

Stiles nodded, groaning loudly on the inside.  Aside from Scott, nobody else really knew that he was gay.  Not that it was all that big of a deal, but sometimes people tended to blow things like that out of the water.  Then there were his parents, who he knew wouldn't care one way or the other, but...  Still, that nervousness stuck.

"Yeah..." Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck.  "Not big on breaking this to my dad.  He has this way of asking really awkward questions about any subject he comes upon, and I can already just picture it," he said, recalling the nightmare fuel that had been "the birds and the bees" talk several years earlier.

Derek nodded, patting Stiles on the back.  "Your parents are awesome, though.  You've got nothing to worry about, and I'll be there with you if you need me," he offered, with a deep sigh.  "I've got experience in that department, and let me say that you've got a significant leg up on me, since you'll get to tell without them knowing what kind of porn sites you're into," he said, covering his face in shame.

Stiles rose an eyebrow.  "I sense an embarrassing story approacheth that I may or may not use as blackmail in the future," he said snarkily.

"I will never repeat that weekend as long as I live," Derek said, folding his arms and turning away from Stiles.

"Oh come on!  You can't leave me out of this!" Stiles whined, shoving Derek playfully to the side.

The rest of Halftime, Stiles pestered Derek for the full story, with his sullen, silent boyfriend keeping his lips firmly shut.  Assistant coaches came around to give everyone ice-cold bottled water (also giving Stiles and Derek a peculiar, yet pleased look), a radio was turned on to catch the other scores around the state (the White Bisons were kicking the Signal Warrior's butt, thanks to a certain asshole still banned from play), and the group buzzed about Liam's solid plays, earning the Freshman a copious amount of respect from the Senior and Junior players.

Yet, in the blink of the eye, Finstock's blaring whistle echoed in the room.  

The players groaned, covering their ears from the painful noise, all turning up to face their coach.

Finstock whistled over and over again, switching off the radio in the corner.  "Alrighty fellow Californians, halftime is over, and so is your break!  Get out there, make sure and stretch out well, and let's finish up this game!  Come on, move, move, move!" he yelled, slapping his hand against the nearest locker.

Raising up from the benches, the Silver Wolves piled out of the locker room in droves.  Stiles fell behind, picking up his helmet and finishing off his bottle of water.  

"You and Hale seem to be in better spirits.  Must have been one hell of a pep talk," Finstock said.

Stiles spun around, meeting Finstock's cocky grin.  

"I uh...  Yeah.  Just a misunderstanding, everything got worked out," Stiles answered, nodding.  He tucked his football helmet underneath his arm.

Finstock chuckled.

"Good to hear, good to hear.  Oh and...  Nice hickey, Stilinski, good to know you and Hale finally got your shit together.  Just keep it PG before games, I don't want either of you tuckered out or walking funny with your "extracurricular activities"," Finstock said, slapping Stiles on the shoulder pads, with a cocky grin.

A low cold filled Stiles' stomach, and he squawked loudly.  Stiles dropped his helmet, ran to the nearest mirror, and glanced down to his neck.  Sure enough, a dark red mark, from his and Derek's earlier makeout session was clear as day, and obviously fresh.  Thinking back, Stiles gaped in horror as he also realized he'd done the same to Derek.

Marks that weren't on their necks before halftime.  With nobody else in the locker room with them, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where they came from.  Which also explained the strange looks they'd gotten during halftime, and the pleased looks on the team’s face.

Stiles laughed nervously.  "I uh..  I guess we don't have to worry about telling them," he said, tucking up his collar as far as it could go.

++++

 

The second half against Amber Ridge went far better than Stiles could have imagined.   Derek got his mojo back, and Amber Ridge's hopes of beating the #1 ranked team in their conference went down in an unquenchable blaze of testosterone-driven glory.  

Derek's passes went straight into Allison's hands, the handoffs to Isaac and Jackson were flawless, and he ran through the team, scoring touchdowns left and right.  In a perfect form unseen before in any other game, Derek looked genuinely like a NFL superstar.  His form and power-plays bled into the rest of the team, with Allison breaking her running records by a mile, and Isaac and Jackson running more aggressive than ever before.  Boyd’s blocks had upgraded from a brick wall into a steel door.  

Even Stiles felt more engaged, with his kicks (and Liam’s amazing placement) flying on-target each and every time.  He watched his latest kick go straight through the goalposts, earning yet another extra point for Beacon Hills.  

Stiles beamed, hearing his hometown scream and cheer on their side of the field.  His chest overflowed with joy, as he and Liam high-fived  on the way back to the bench, and he was able to pull Derek into a celebratory hug.

By the time they'd scored enough to bring in the second string, Finstock was screaming gleefully and hugging Derek around the neck.  

They would end the game with a victorious score of 49-6, with both sides just as pumped.  Amber Ridge for playing such a hard first half against the number one ranked team, and the Silver Wolves for continuing their perfect winning streak.

Despite the knowing glares that Stiles and Derek got from the rest of the team, everyone kept respectfully quiet about the situation.  A silence which continued as they drove into the woods, and for their hotel they'd be staying the evening at.

Surprisingly enough, the Amber Lodge was not the worst hotel that Stiles had ever been inside.  Definitely a paradise during hunting season, the place had been styled with a rustic log-cabin styled theme.  Stiles glanced throughout the lobby, complete with wall-mounted hunting trophies, maps of hunting trails, and even a massive fireplace lounge that doubled as a restaurant.  

The style continued well into each individual room, which Stiles currently occupied at the far end of the first floor.

Sitting on the edge of a camouflage comforter, and underneath a wall mounted buck head, Stiles finished slipping into his nightshirt and athletic shorts.  His feet were planted on the soft brown carpeting, next to the wall heater and trying to warm up from the bitter cold outside.  Stiles' head, wet from a fresh shower not moments ago, stuck up in every direction.  He tried to pay attention to the local news, blaring on the outdated television set, but had his thoughts elsewhere.

 _"Derek loves me...  Derek actually loves me!"_ Stiles thought to himself, unable to contain his massive grin.  

Shivering from the cold of the room, Stiles curled up on the bed with a blanket at the end, covering himself and letting the warmth from his chest radiate outward.

The shower shut off from the bathroom, and Stiles heard the sounds of Derek's feet padding on the tile floor.  

Gulping, Stiles slid himself up the bed, and felt his heart going into overdrive.

 _"Is he going to want sex?  Am I going to lose my virginity here?  Oh my God...  I don't have lube or anything!  I don't even know what it feels like!  I...  I haven't tried that far yet!"_ Stiles said, sweating profusely as he tried to remember what he'd read online, and separate it from what he'd seen in porn.

So caught up in his mind, Stiles didn't realize that Derek had exited the bathroom, in a pair of black boxer briefs, and a tight-fitting tank top.

Derek smiled, tossing his towel away and plopping down on the bed next to Stiles.

"You're so cute when you're thinking too hard," Derek said, putting his hand on Stiles' thigh.

Shaking off his nervous thoughts, Stiles gulped, and scrambled back up to a sitting position.  He pulled his blanket off, and instead put his arm around Derek for warmth.  

In a deep silence, the two just sat in each other's arms, gently touching and sliding their bodies together.

"Um...  So, what do..  Now?" Stiles asked nervously.

Derek cleared his throat, scratching the outside of his beard.   "I don't know...  Uh...  I've never...  You know, done anything like this.  Never had or been a boyfriend before.  Uncharted waters," he admitted, sheepishly.

"Me either," Stiles answered back, with a nervous gulp.

"I mean...  I know WHAT we're supposed to do, but...  I uh...  I don't think it's as easy as porn or the internet makes it out to be," Derek added, with a slight catch in his throat.

Stiles covered his face with his free hand.  "Yeah, no...  I...  I don't think that's something we can do tonight.  I don't have...  The lube, you know...  Without it, you'd probably split me in half," he answered.

Derek, realizing exactly what Stiles meant, also covered his face, and glanced away from Stiles.  "Y...Yeah, I agree... I don't want to, you know...  Hurt you.  Or, you know, you...  Hurt me?  I mean, we can...  Do both ways, sometimes, you know...  I...  Uh...  I'm kinda curious about...  Both ways," he muttered quietly, as his face gradually transformed into a tomato.

"Oh!  Oh, well...  Yeah, that's...  That's fun too.  Options are nice, options are very nice," Stiles said, laughing halfheartedly.

An awkward silence fell between them.

"Can we please not have sex yet?  I am so not mentally or physically ready for that.  I need time to research before anything is stuck in either of our...  You know...  That spot," Stiles blurted out, embarrassingly.

"Thank Christ," Derek said, in relief, laughing along with Stiles.

Stiles smiled, patting Derek on the thigh.  "Good to be on the same page," he said.

"So then, what are we supposed to do?  I've...  Never had a boyfriend before.  I'm...  Not exactly an expert," Derek asked, gulping loudly.

Stiles chuckled quietly to himself.  "Me either.  You're my first," he answered, smiling softly in Derek's direction.  "I did really like us kissing in the locker room, though.  You want to do a little more of that?" he asked.

The awkward tension between them seemed to fade as Derek smiled, with a hearty, appreciative chuckle.  He leaned on top of Stiles, pulling his boyfriend down on the bed, as the two laid down beside each other.  

Derek held Stiles' face, while Stiles grabbed onto Derek's midsection.  

"I think that's a great idea," Derek replied, leaning in, and pressing his lips firmly against Stiles.  

Reciprocating, Stiles kissed right back.

The two melded into each other, making soft, contented noises  in between their lips.  Stiles held on tightly to Derek's back, while Derek's hands fished around Stiles' neck.  

Stiles squawked as Derek's tongue found its way into Stiles' mouth, but they both laughed it off, and quickly continued, tongue and all.  The combined warmth of their mouths set both of them moaning in unison.

In the middle of their heated kiss, Derek managed to peel off Stiles' shirt, leaving him in just his athletic shorts.  Stiles, with great difficulty in separating their kiss, also managed to yank Derek's tank top and throw it off the side of the bed.  They pressed into each other, chest to chest, feeling each other's hearts racing wildly.  

Shifting slightly, Derek adjusted Stiles to lay down on his back, while Derek held himself on top with his broad arms.  He broke their facial kiss, and went south, kissing and sucking deeply into Stiles' neck.

"Ah, ah...  Holy...  Holy crap," Stiles said, laughing from the ticklish sensation.  

Stiles' laugher but a broader smile on Derek's face, and he leaned up from a pinkish hickey he'd left on Stiles' neck.  Derek brought himself back to Stiles' face, and laughed right alongside him, pressing a simple kiss into Stiles' mouth.  

"Anywhere else you're ticklish?" Derek asked, with a sly grin.

"Don't you dare!  Don't you DAAAAAREEE..." Stiles warned, squeaking loudly as Derek brought his fingers to each of Stiles' sides, softly tracing them up and down Stiles' toned body.  

Derek didn't dare let up, which forced Stiles to fight back, latching onto Derek's body like a sloth, and flipped them both to their sides again.

Playfully pressing kisses into Derek's chest, Stiles took in deep breaths, taking in the scent of Derek's freshly showered scent, and a pale hint of cologne.

Derek buried himself in Stiles' soft hair, pecking kisses into his boyfriend's head.

They both laughed quietly, contentedly holding tightly onto each other.

"It sucks we've got this stupid team building bullshit tomorrow.  I'd like to take you out for dinner and a movie," Derek said, gently massaging Stiles' back.

Holding tightly onto Derek's waist, Stiles smiled.  "Oum's Chinese?" he asked, hopefully.

"Where else?" Derek answered, as he and Stiles rested against the soft pillow at the head of the bed.  They both drew circles on each other's skin.  "Then the movie theatre, and back to one of our places for games, or another movie.  Just us, on the couch, all night long" he said, in a warm, contented tone.

"Mmm..." Stiles said, closing his eyes and tucking himself under Derek's chin.  He planted a few choice kisses on Derek's neck, before finally resting in a comfortable curve of Derek's shoulder.  "Sounds good.  Sounds perfect, actually.  Sounds like everything I've ever wanted between us," he replied.

Derek kissed Stiles' forehead.  "Me too, Stiles.  Me too," he said, as the two of them held each other tightly.

They might have fallen asleep like that, except for Stiles pulling the covers up over them, and smiling mischievously at Derek.

"You know...  Even if we don't do the do, we could...  You know...  At least see each other...  I mean, I know that I've always wondered what you-" Stiles rambled, as Derek silenced him with a deep kiss, laughing into Stiles' mouth.

Their undergarments were soon flung away on the far end of the bed, and they pressed close against each other, warming each other up on a bitter, cold night.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

A torrential pourdown of rain cancelled out the early morning training session, picnic, and team building exercises with Amber Ridge that following morning.  The "heartrending tragedy" of the onset of rain ripped through both teams down to the core, and there was most certainly not any cheering on the bus as they all pulled away from the Amber Lodge, or tears of unbridled joy.  

Instead, the Silver Wolves made it back to Beacon Hills by noon, and allowed everyone to enjoy their weekend uninterrupted.  

Which, for Stiles, was a dream come true.  At 5:00 that night, he'd be going on his first date with Derek, and his first date of his life. A fact that most of Beacon HIlls became very aware of, if Stiles’ phone was any indication from the burst of text messages.

 

Jackson:  Hear you and Hale are going on a date.  Thank God…  You should really have gotten dinner and a movie before Hale ravished you in the locker room.

Stiles:  Shaddup.  I liked being ravished!  :P

 

Scott:  DUDE.  You and Derek?!  WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY?!

Stiles:  Alright, alright…  I owe you a milkshake at Mira’s Diner.  

Scott:  You also owe me a bro hug for getting you on the team.  ;)

Stiles:  You will get a bro handshake and be satisfied with it!

 

Isaac:  Do you need condoms and lube?  Don’t know what you’re expecting to do tonight, but I’ve “seen” Derek, and you’ll need plenty of both.

Stiles:  Isaac, go away.  We’re not having sex yet.

Isaac:  What?!  WHY!?  HAVE YOU SEEN DEREK?  Fucking ride that like a horse!

Stiles:  Not helping, Isaac.  Not helping.

 

Allison:  Congratulations on you and Derek!  Now that you’ve gotten your shit together, how about you join the inner circle and help us get Lydia and Jackson together!

Stiles:  Thanks!  :)  Is Lydia okay with that?

Allison:  You kidding?  She’s wanted to make a move on Whittemore for years, but the douche won’t ever give her a sign he’s interested!

Stiles  Cool!  Derek and I are in.  ;)

 

The text messages and phone calls finally came to an end, and Stiles could relax the rest of the afternoon, and share the information about his boyfriend with Claudia, who squealed in delight for her son.  Stiles felt a sigh of relief, and the two spent a calm afternoon watching TV.

Though as the hours went on, Stiles started prep for his date around 4 o’clock.  Fresh of out of a shower, Stiles stood in the middle of his room in his jeans, inspecting his closet or an appropriate outfit for dinner and a movie.  Walking with a spring in his step, Stiles inspected the nicer end of his closet, looking for warmer attire.

"No, not going to wear Nana's sweater...  No, I'm not going to wear the vest...  Definitely avoiding the zombie costume from Halloween..." Stiles muttered to himself, before finally snagging out a long red sweatshirt.  "Meh, why go fancy?  Derek won't," he said, confidently to himself.  

Stiles pulled his favorite sweatshirt from the previous year over his head and...  There it would stay, to Stiles’ confusion.

"W...  What the?" Stiles grumbled, as he struggled to get the shirt past his shoulders and onto his body.  Like fitting a cow through a needle head, Stiles could only get it to move down by sheer force, and only in small increments.  Tighter than a compression shirt, his cotton sweatshirt felt at least two sizes too small.

With the sweatshirt over his chest, he struggled to move it over his stomach, only to realize (in horror) that it barely covered his midriff above his navel, and exposed his small semblance of a happy trail.  Stiles struggled to pull it down further, as his shoulder tightly strained against the fabric.  "Why you...  No...  Why you no FIT!?" Stiles yelled, before the entire right shoulder ripped, with his shoulder shredding through it.  

"What the crap..." Stiles said, grimacing.  Looking over the detached sleeve, he sighed.  That was the fifth shirt he'd ruined that way in the last couple of weeks.  Which made zero sense to him.  "I wore these just last year!  I haven't gotten any taller, so what's the...  Deal.." he said, as he stood in front of his dresser's mirror.

A low gasp left Stiles’ throat.

Stiles blinked, unable to comprehend the other person in the mirror.  He knew that it should have been his reflection, but there's no way that could be the case.  A stranger was in the mirror, someone he'd never really seen before.

The person in the mirror didn't have glasses on.  Okay, so Stiles was well aware that he'd switched out with contacts during the second game of the season (glasses made everything difficult), but the fact remained he'd never really seen his face so freed up before, or how honey-brown they were.

Furthermore, the stranger he saw had longer, shaggier brown hair that had volume and bounce to it, unlike the buzz cut he'd had for over half of his life.  Which, granted, he'd been too busy to get a buzz cut between everything going on, but it shouldn't have looked that good.

Though the most pressing, most unrealistic feature? That would be this strange person's body.  Having always worn a medium sized shirt, Stiles saw this monster ripping through this sleek-fit sweater, not entirely unlike the Hulk.  On the part of his midriff that the shirt couldn't reach down to hide, Stiles saw the definition of abs, the kind he'd always been jealous of Scott for.  Abs that would probably give Jackson a run for his money with a few more months of training.  His shoulders had grown thicker, and Stiles' arms couldn't even fit in the sleeves of the shirt without tearing them, and Stiles' back ripped through the fabric like nothing.  

Stiles could see the weight gain of solid muscle that everyone complimented him on constantly.  He could see the change in his physique, the way he'd earned a solid tan, and how healthy he actually looked.  

"No way..." Stiles whispered to himself, walking over to his mirror.  He pulled off the destroyed shirt, and flexed his muscles.  Amazing how an intense 6 month workout regime, complete with weekend training at Derek's had changed him.  He smiled, touching the outline of his body and laughing at how much he'd changed.  “Uh…  Okay…  Hello there.  You owe me new shirts,” he said, poking at his muscular arms and stomach.

"Stiles?  You in-.." John said, walking inside the open bedroom and whistling at the sight.  "Damn son, you've really filled out!  We're going to have to take you shopping soon," he said, pointing to the ripped shirt on the floor.

Chuckling, Stiles nodded, turning back to his closet and looking for something hopefully bigger.  There was a few shirts that Derek left from sleepovers, which probably wouldn't engulf him anymore.  "That would be appreciated.  Wearing skin-tight clothes and looking douchey is Jackson's job.  Me?  I'm good to settle with some nice plaid," he joked, with a bright smile.  

John nodded, smiling right back and shaking his head in disbelief.  "You've changed...  No, I don't think that's right...  You've opened up, I think that's more like it," he explained.

Stiles turned, around, making eye contact with his father.  "I've..  What?" he asked.

"Yeah...  That's definitely it.  You haven't changed as a person, you're still the snarky child with your mother's attitude, and you'll always be obsessed with those video games, but..." John said, shaking his head.  "You smile more now, since you made all your new friends, and you stand with your shoulders straight.  You're not slumped over, sad, or...  Just downright depressed.  You involve yourself with conversations more, you're more open with your mother and I, and you seem excited about things.  It's...  It's such a relief to see you happy, Stiles.  Your mother and I worried about you for the longest time," he finished, moving forward and pulling Stiles into a firm hug.

"I...  Well, I uh..." Stiles mumbled, unable to really say much to that.  He wondered if that was really true.  

Sure, he talked about the team, school, and the guys with his parents at dinner every night, but...  Surely he'd talked with them more than that before.  He also knew he wasn't "depressed", but the cloud of darkness and self-loathing had certainly diminished since surrounding himself with his positive friends and having a support system.  Did he really talk more?  Stiles couldn't exactly answer that question, though he did recall that he carried most of the conversations between him and Derek..

John took a deep breath.  "Sorry, awkward parenting talk, I know..." he said, slapping Stiles on the back.  He turned away, staring intently at a poster on Stiles' wall.  "...and speaking of awkward parenting talk...  I heard from your mother that you're going on a date tonight...  With...  Derek," he said, in a series of paused comments.

Stiles cringed.  He'd hoped his dad wouldn't have made it back from a police fundraiser in time for such a lovely conversation.  The time had come, obviously, with the entire team well aware of their status, and with the gossip vine already hitting Facebook and Instagram, Stiles had been lucky it was his mother who dropped the bomb to John.

"Yeah, I am.  We've gotten close, and Derek asked me out last night after the game, and...  I said yes," Stiles answered.  He chose to leave out the naked cuddling that went on well into the night, or the hickies that had finally gone away earlier that afternoon.

John nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.  "Ah...  Well, Derek's a nice young man, comes from a good family, and...  Doesn't have a record, so that's a plus," he replied, fidgeting back and forth.

"You seriously did not do a background check on him…  Please tell me you’re joking?" Stiles asked, recalling such a promise to occur back when he'd gotten “the talk” with his dad on any relationship he might have.

John cleared his throat, and finally spun around and met Stiles' eyes.   Relief spread in Stiles' body, watching as his father smiled back at him, with a kind, proud gaze.

"I just...  Wanted to make sure my son was dating someone who wouldn't hurt him.  I trust your judgement, but I don't necessarily trust your date's judgement," John answered, stepping forward and picking up the shredded shirt on the ground.  "Do you...  Like him?" he asked.

Without hesitation, Stiles nodded.  "I really like him, dad.  He's more than just a boyfriend, he's...  He's one of my best friends.  I like being around him, and Derek...  Derek has really been there for me this last year, and I've been there for him.  We both want this, and we both feel strongly about this," he said, happily.  Stiles chose not to drop the "love" bomb in front of his dad, because "baby steps" were important.

John nodded, folding his arms.  "Then that's all that counts, son," he said, moving his way to Stiles' door.  He stopped, turning back to Stiles and smirked.  "I won't make you bring him over for a shotgun conversation just yet, but how about you invite him over for a family dinner sometime?  Maybe a barbeque with the Hales?  Anything would be fine," he asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "Sure," he answered snarkily.

"Good.  Well, have fun tonight," John said, waving as he exited Stiles' room.

Flattening out his better-fitting shirt, Stiles returned to his closet and looked for something that could go over his borrowed shirt.  After several minutes of ill fitting try-ons, Stiles finally lets out a deep huff.

Stiles looked underneath his bed, and retrieved a flat box.  

“So I’m actually going to end up wearing you, huh?  Never would have thought it,” Stiles muttered to himself, before re-opening the package.  Inside, a thick scarlet and silver jacket laid out, with “Stilinski” in bold print on the back, and the number 3 emblazoned on the back.  The newer players got their letterman jackets a month earlier, but Stiles had never intended on wearing it all that long, given the status of the bet.

Stiles unfurled the jacket, with it much larger than the sweatshirt he’d tried on earlier.  On Coach Finstock’s recommendation, Stiles had gotten a larger fit.  He hadn’t understood at the time, but things made sense now.

With great ease, Stiles threw the jacket on, and buttoned it up.  Spinning around, Stiles caught a glance at himself in the mirror once more.

“Huh…  Well I’ll be damned,” Stiles said, shoving his hands into the front pocket.  

The jacket fit him perfectly.

 

+++++

 

Oum's Chinese, one of the higher end restaurants in Beacon Hills, was Stiles' favorite place to eat.  The red and black regal furnishing, combined with soft lighting, interesting music, and 4 Star cuisine all combined to create a stunning atmosphere.

Sitting in a booth at the far corner of the restaurant, Stiles and Derek sat next to one and other, surrounded by a plethora of varying foods.

Stiles maneuvered his chopsticks with ease, snickering as Derek fumbled food repeatedly with his own sticks.

"This is stupid...  Give me a fork," Derek demanded, reaching across the table and snagging the more useful utensil.

Stiles snorted, shaking his head.  "The Star Athlete has trouble fumbling food.  Isn't that ironic?" he asked playfully.  

"What's ironic is the straight A student who can't pronounce half the crap on the menu," Derek fired back, just as snarkily.

Huffing, Stiles reached over and stole one of Derek's pieces of food, and popped it into his mouth.  

Not to be outdone, Derek reached over with his fork, speared a fourth of Stiles' plate, and practically swallowed them whole.

Stiles dropped his jaw.  "Okay, wow, rude.  Asshole, no Hot and Sour for you!" he said, reaching over and stealing Derek's soup.  

They both laughed, going back to eating the outlandish pile of food before them.  

Derek scooted a little closer, linking his leg with Stiles', and leaning against him.

"I told my mom and dad about us.  Sort of had to, really.  Laura blabbed I was going on a date, and they wouldn't stop pestering me until I said who," Derek admitted.

Stiles dropped his chopstick’s snagged food, and quickly turned to Derek.  "Oh?  Oh, uh...  What'd they say?" he asked.  A new kind of nervousness filled Stiles' stomach, as he realized he had the existence of Derek's side of the family to deal with.  What if they hated him?  Well, sure, Talia and Marc didn't hate him, but what about the extended family?  What about Derek's brothers and sisters?  

Derek cleared his throat, pushing around beef slices on his plate.  "Well, uh...  My mom might have done embarrassing mom things, like cheering for me, and hugging my neck and screaming about how happy she was I "got a good one".  Dad didn't say much, but he smiled and wants to have you over for dinner sometime.  Laura put me in a headlock congratulating me, and Cora was gagging about disgusting boy cooties," he answered.

"That's cute," Stiles answered, sighing in relief.  

Rolling his eyes, Derek let out a short chuckle.  "Just wait until you meet my Uncle Peter and Aunt Corrine, and their wild daughter, Malia.  Won't be so cute when the three of them ask you embarrassing questions about us," he fired back.

"Isn't he the one you said was a streaker back when he was younger in college?" Stiles inquired.

"Don't ask," Derek said, rubbing his forehead painfully.  

Laughing, Stiles shook his head and moved back to his plate of food.  "I uh...  I told mom, and mom told dad about us.  Mom was happy for us, and you've got my dad's temporary blessing.  Though you've got to have an awkward dinner too," he added.

"What is it about this dumbass thing for dads to always need to have awkward first dinners?  I mean, the only thing that's missing is them polishing shotguns," Derek counted.

Stiles shrugged.  "Dunno, it's just Stereotype #434 that all good romances have to have, apparently," he replied, snagging a spoon and going to town on his soup.

They both ate in mutual silence, keeping in close proximity.  Derek eventually finished enough food to put his arm around Stiles' shoulder, and waited for him to finish.  

"You know...  The Homecoming Dance is next Friday, after the game.  You want to go?” Derek asked.

Stiles smirked, stuffing the last of the rice into his mouth.  After swallowing, Stiles let out a contented sigh.  “Sure.  As long as you don’t mind me stepping all over your feet.  With the exception of a Polish Dance Nana made me learn as a kid, I have zero dancing skills,” he replied, leaning into Derek.  

Derek snorted.  “You think I’m any better?  I can’t even do the macarena,” he countered.

“Ah…  So we’ll be disasters on the dancefloor, is what you’re saying?” Stiles said, laughing quietly to himself at the thought of it.

“Well, we could always hang out at the punch bowl and pig out on snacks.  At least, until a slow song came on.  I think we could handle that, don’t you think?” Derek countered, putting his hand on Stiles’ knee and squeezing.

Stiles followed suit, grabbing Derek’s knee soon after.  “Oh, I think I could handle a lot of that,” he countered, with a warm voice.

“You sure handled plenty last night.  It’s still sore from all the grabbing,” Derek joked, with a cocky grin.

Choking on air, Stiles sputtered comically as a waiter came by and eyed them peculiarly.  The well-dressed waiter picked up their plates, while also leaving them the check and nodding with his pink stripe of hair bobbing back and forth.

Once they were alone again, Stiles firmly poked Derek in the side.  “What happens in Amber Lodge STAYS in Amber Lodge!  You hear me?” he ordered, as his face turned a soft red.  He folded his arms and scoffed.  “Oh, and if you want to talk about things being sore, I’ve still got handprints on my ass.  Freaking horn-dog grab ass,” he whispered back.

Derek and Stiles, despite their embarrassment, also smiled brightly at the memories.  

“Well, you’ll have to excuse me…  Seeing you like that set me off.  Do you have any idea how much I’ve ever wanted to see you like that?  Dream come true,” Derek said.

Leaning over, Derek planted a kiss on Stiles’ forehead.  “Love you,” he whispered.

Stiles smirked, and gave Derek a peck on the cheek.  “Love you too,” he answered back.

++++++

Not all that surprised at the speed that John and Marc worked together a family barbeque, Stiles found himself in the backyard of the Hale house Sunday afternoon.

An old American Styled home (complete with a white picket fence, massive backyard, and a massive wolf-like huskey) built back in the early sixties, Talia Hale inherited her parents’ home after their retirement, and moved their large family into the home several years earlier.

Standing with the rest of the party on the Hale’s deck, Stiles sipped a mug of coffee, bundled up tightly in a new sweater vest (courtesy of his mother’s shopping the day before), and watched the scene before him.

Claudia and Talia had full reign of the barbeque, shooing Marc and his poor grilling technique far away.  

Cora was on Laura’s shoulders, as they ran around in circles on the crunchy leaves with Woofie, a full-grown husky that was bigger than Stiles had been the year prior.

John and Derek were bonding over the results of a Saturday night college game, and bickering over the lousy kicker.  Stiles kept his attention on his father and boyfriend, not wanting any police-styled investigations happening under his nose.

“They lost that game because they missed a field goal, and couldn’t make a PAT of their life depended on it,” John said, shaking his head while sipping on his bottle of beer.

Derek nodded, taking a gulp of his canned Coke.  “It was painful to watch.  Their holder couldn’t place the ball quickly enough, and their kicker didn’t even bother to line up.  I swear, Stiles and Liam could have done a better job,” he said, with a proud smile.

“I’m sure he could,” John said, nodding and toasting up in the air to Stiles’ direction.  “My son is one hell of a kicker, and I bet he’d be one hell of a college ball player,” he said eagerly.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Dad…  We’ve been over this, I’m not going to be scouted, there will be no godly scholarship, and my grades will take me to college.  They want the Apollo athletes, like Derek and Allison,” he countered, sipping his coffee.

“Maybe not a full ride athletic, but Stiles, any amount of money would be better than no money!  I mean, you still want to keep playing football, don’t you?” John asked.

Stiles felt a spark shoot up his spine.  Thoughts about the bet, about playing into next year, and even the possibility of college ball ran through his head.  He’d kept thoughts about the future away, so caught up in the presence to think any of that through.

“Well…  I mean, I’ve not really thought about it,” Stiles admitted, glancing away.

“You should!” Derek replied supportively, clapping his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.  “You’re a great kicker, and if you get some more practice in, I bet coach could put you on the offensive line.  Hell, you could double as a kicker and wide receiver!  You and Allison have been doing well together on training practices,” he explained.

John beamed.  “Really, now?!” he asked eagerly.

Stiles shot a glare at Derek.  “What did I say about getting dad overly excited about me and football?” he asked.

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Well, he should be excited!  You’re a good player!” he fired back.

“I kick a ball!  Anyone can do that!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Well, sure, but not as good as you do.  Hell, this isn’t even about kicking a ball.  This is about you being a hard worker, and busting your butt harder than half the team.  You think just anybody would get a six-pack in seven months, or have Coach Finstock’s respect that quickly?  Hell no!” Derek said, pulling Stiles closer and into a hug.  

Stiles felt a fluttering in his chest, and smiled.  “Yeah, whatever.  Maybe you’re somewhat right, sort-of,” he replied, hugging back.  

John smiled, chuckling to himself.  “Lesson number one, Derek.  Getting Stiles to take a compliment is like pulling teeth.,” he explained, shaking his head.

“I’ve noticed,” Derek said, as he and Stiles released their side hug.

Stiles rolled his eyes, waving the empty mug in his hand.  “Yeah, yeah…  I’m going back in for coffee,” he said, as he waved off the group of men.

Making his way through the sliding glass door into the Hale house, Stiles steps inside the classically styled kitchen.  Stopping at the coffee machine, Stiles poured himself another cup.  He adds a small amount of cream and sugar, before sipping the warm concoction.

“Sorry it’s such cheap coffee.  I’m the only one that drinks any around here.  Mom is wrong and prefers tea, dad likes beer, and my siblings are soda junkies,” Laura said, with a low chuckle.

Spinning around, Stiles watched as Derek’s big sister joined him inside the kitchen.  She went to pour herself a cup of coffee as well, standing right next to Stiles.

Laura sipped her black coffee, and turned to Stiles.  “Let me get the awkward family conversation out of the way, and let you know what’s coming up,” she said, focusing her gaze on her mug of coffee.  

Stiles cringed, but nodded as he forced down more of his drink.

“Mom loves you, so she’s thrilled that you and Derek are together, and is going to support you no matter what.  Though she’s a little worried that Derek dating might affect his grades, so expect a strict “homework first on weekends” talk, and I overheard your mom agreeing,” Laura said, smiling quietly.  “Dad thinks you’re a good influence on Derek for studies, but he’s got worries about Derek slacking in his training or practice, and that it might affect Derek’s chances at a full ride athletics scholarship.  I suggest you and Derek having workout dates in the home gym, and dad will probably chill,” she said, before looking up and staring at Stiles eye-to-eye.

Nodding, Stiles smiled.  “Thanks…  That’s good to know.  I don’t know what my folks want to say, but…  Nice to have that heads up,” he said, thankfully.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Laura said, patting Stiles’ shoulder.  “I know that Derek’s had a massive crush on you for years, and that you two are close, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got big sister’s blessing,” she said, with a sinister grin.

A dark cloud seemed to gather over Stiles’ head, and he felt a great sense of dread, despite Laura’s carefree gaze.

“Okay?...” Stiles muttered, with a nervous glare.

Laura’s devilish grin faded, and she glanced to make sure the rest of the family was outside the range of hearing.  Her features softened.  “Young romances tend to heat up quickly and burn out fast.  That’s what happened to me and my boyfriend after I graduated, and I lost a great friendship over it.  So…  Even though you and Derek are hitting this relationship fast, and you seem like a perfect couple, and you’re good friends, just be careful with my baby brother, okay?  He looks tough, but he’s got a teddy bear heart that’s easy to shred,” she asked, grimly.

Stiles took in Laura’s determined glance, and nodded confidently.  “I promise, Laura,” he answered.

“Good!” Laura said, slapping Stiles on the backside as hard as she could manage.  “I’m going to college to get a degree in forensics, by the way.  Amazing at all the knowledge that comes with that kind of degree,” she added quietly, before taking her mug of coffee and returning back to the outside deck.

The chill in the air around Stiles came from more than just the door opening and closing in a flash.  

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Game 7, like the rest of the Silver Wolves' conference games, ended as a strong victory in their favor.  Against a nearby team, the Pottsville Pirates, the Silver Wolves ended their Homecoming Game with a strong score of 36-7.

With the game ended, Stiles and the rest of the Silver Wolves hurriedly cleaned up in the locker room, and changed into their casual clothing for the Homecoming Dance.  

Stiles pulled on a soft white undershirt, a new pair of jeans, and finished it off with a warm grey vest.  He combed back his messy hair, staring at himself in Jackson's locker mirror and stealing some of his hair products.

"There's a thing called ASKING, Stilinski," Jackson spat, shoving Stiles playfully out of the way and grabbing for his clothes.  Fresh out of a shower, Jackson dried off thoroughly, and threw on his overpriced outfit in record time.

Stiles smirked.  "Someone's eager to get to the dance.  I guess you don't want to keep your date waiting," he said, chuckling to himself.

The guys around them echoed in laughter, as Jackson's forehead twitched.

"Shut up, Stilinski," Jackson growled, checking himself over again before slamming his locker shut.  He grinned devilishly at Stiles.  "At least my date can dance.  Between you and Hale, I'll be surprised if there aren't any casualties on the dance floor," he snarked, as he waved away Stiles and made a quit exit out of the locker room.

Stiles rolled his eyes, turning to Boyd and a few other linemen changing by him.  "He thinks he's hot shit because Lydia finally asked him out.  How much of a blow to the ego would it be if we told him we'd all told Lydia about his crush and their mutual love fest?" he asked.

A slow grin covered Boyd's face.  "Dude, my date, Erica, and I will pay you to do it," he said, clapping his hands together in a begging stance.

"Okay, no," Isaac said, stepping inside the conversation as he forced open his brother's locker.  He also stole some of the hair products, and maneuvered his hair into something manageable.  "Leave my brother out of this, okay?  Yes, he's a dick, but Jackson is a fucking fluffy marshmallow on the inside, and would die if he knew.  For two, let's not fuck up a relationship before it even started.  Oh, and, of all people to talk about mutual crushes, you and Derek can just shut the hell up," he said, as he slammed Jackson's locker shut.

It was Stiles' turn to feel his forehead twitch, and to shut his own locker.  "Shut up, Isaac!" he spat, as Boyd and the linemen (the traitors) took turns to laugh at him also.

Taking his leave of the locker room, Stiles stepped outside into the crisp wintry air, and bundled for warmth.  Glancing across the area, he spotted Derek and an older man chatting together at the entrance to the football field.  Derek fidgeted in his warm leather jacket, bouncing on his feet, and enthralled in whatever the man spoke.

Stiles walked over, and could just barely catch the tail-end of the conversation.

_“..so naturally, I can’t offer you anything until you’re a Senior and actually considering colleges, but I wanted you to be aware that we’re very interested in your performances this year.  A lot can change in two years, young man, but you’re the kind of player that we’d definitely want at our college if you stick with this kind of talent,” the well-dressed man said, before reaching into his pocket and producing a small business card.  “Sometime this winter break, or even this summer, give me a ring and we’ll be happy to get you a tour of our campus,” he finished._

 

Stiles watched Derek’s eyes light up, and a vivid smile punctuate his face.

“Thank you, sir,” Derek said, firmly shaking the man’s hand.

Finally joining the two, Stiles earned a stare from both men.  

“Hey, Stiles!  Good timing, I’d like you to meet Mr. Greensmith.  He’s a recruiter for Signal College, about an hour from here.  Mr. Greensmith, this is Stiles Stilinski, our kicker, and my boyfriend,” Derek said.

Stiles watched the recruiter’s eyes go broad.  

“So you’re the kicker?!  The one with the legs from God himself?!” Greensmith said, clapping his hand firmly on Stiles’ shoulder and laughed heartily.  “I must say, you did quite a performance out there!  It’s rare to see high school teams utilizing kicking plays so frequently, but considering your consistency, I’m not at all surprised!” he exclaimed.

“Thanks?” Stiles said.  Unsure of exactly why the man seemed so excited, he just nodded in response.

Greensmith pulled into his pocket once more, and handed Stiles a business card.  “My card, I’m a recruiter of our Athletics Department at Signal.  Like I was telling Derek, we’re a relatively new college just starting to get our football program started, and we’re on the lookout for hot talent.  Please, call and schedule an appointment to see our new campus, and tour our facilities!  I’d be happy to be your guide, and let you know about all of our academic and athletic scholarship programs we have available!  Naturally, I can't make any offers or promises, due to your age, but I can certainly show you the ropes,” he said excitedly.

“Oh!  Signal!  You’re that new place, just about halfway to Amber Ridge, right?” Stiles said, taken aback.  The  name hadn’t sounded familiar at first, but he HAD heard of Signal College.  A brand new state-of-the-art facility that claimed to be a “modernized” learning experience.  Even for only being 5 years running, they’d received numerous accreditation in their varying fields of study.

Stiles had wanted to go there, obviously, but the tuition was ridiculously high.  Even with scholarships that were few in number, the balance would be out of Stiles' reach.

Greensmith nodded.  “That’s right!  We’re still getting started out, so our scholarships are low in number, but we do offer a full ride in both academics and athletics for top talents.  There are additional lower-tier scholarships in both as well,” he said, before pocketing the remainder of his business cards.  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I really should be going.  Good seeing you tonight, boys, and I look forward to seeing you both grow over the years!” he said, waving farewell as he made his way out to the parking lot.

Flipping the card in his hands, Stiles glanced back to Derek, and paused.  The sheer delight on Derek’s face gave him a childlike appearance.  Greensmith little paper card might as well have been presented in Christmas wrapping.

“Derek?  Hey buddy, you okay there?  Helloooo?” Stiles said, waving his hand in front of Derek’s face.

Shaking off his stupor, Derek beamed at Stiles.  “Okay?  Of course I’m okay!  That was the first guy to ever talk to me about college ball!  Stiles, this is fantastic!” he said, picking Stiles up off the ground and hugging him tightly.

Holing up a hand, Stiles wanted to politely point out that getting a business card wasn’t the same as getting a real scholarship, and they still had two years of high school left, and sporting laws prohibited bribing players, but...  Well, Derek’s smile was infections, and Stiles wasn’t about to pop that balloon.  

Instead, Stiles grinned with his boyfriend.  “Can’t do much better than Signal,” he offered, instead.

Breaking their hug, Derek tucked the card inside his wallet, laughing and chuckling warmly.  “This is great, Stiles...  I know there’s a long way to go, but if they’re already talking to me about playing, that’s GOT to be a good sign, right?” he asked.

Stiles nodded, pocketing his own card away.  “I’m sure it’s not a bad sign, anyway.  If they weren’t interested, they wouldn’t have said anything.  It’s early in your high school career, though, so I’m sure there will be other offers and scouts come by and talk to you all the same,” he explained.

“That’s true,” Derek said, nodding.  He folded his arms, struck with a serious glare.  “I’ve got to get better.  Bigger, faster, stronger...  I need the whole Daft Punk album,” Derek explained, tapping his fingers anxiously.

Stiles smiled.  “Wouldn’t hurt.  I mean, the better you are, the better offers you can-”

Both of Derek’s hands clasped on Stiles’ shoulders.  “I HAVE to get better, Stiles.  I HAVE to!  Tomorrow, let’s run around my neighborhood for roadwork, and finish with a good workout in my dad’s weight room!  Then we can-”

Leaning up, Stiles silenced Derek with a soft kiss on the lips.  Derek quieted as he returned the kiss, but cocked an eyebrow curiously at his boyfriend.

“Derek, you’ll be fine, so relax!  You will get better, and I’ll be there the entire way!  I’m good for road work, but how about we squeeze in a date for lunch before we workout, and then a movie when we’re done?  Then couch cuddles while I help you get your math grade up,” Stiles asked, smiling playfully.  

A few inappropriate whistles came from the rest of the football team exiting the locker room, to which Derek waved them all off.  

With a pink face, Derek turned back to Stiles and nodded.  “Yeah, uh...  That sounds better, actually,” he said, in a sigh of relief.

Stiles nodded.  “All work and no play makes for a tired reference, but excellent advice.  Don’t go Rocky Montage on me, okay?” he offered, chuckling to himself.

Smiling appreciatively, Derek nodded, taking Stiles’ arm in his own as they both made their way across the road and into the gymnasium, where a low thumping of music could be heard.

 

+++++

 

Homecoming dance, for Beacon Hills, wasn’t the outlandish affair that other schools offered.  With it happening after the Homecoming game, most students ditched the dance in lieu of other “nightly” activities, but the Junior class had done a well enough job of decorating the gym into a silver and grey masterpiece.  Complete with disco ball and a live DJ, Stiles thumped his head in rhythm of the music as he and Derek made their way inside the dance.

“At least the music doesn’t suck,” Stiles said, humming to the sounds of one of his favorite techno beats.

Derek nodded, as he and Stiles stopped by the punch bowl.  He poured the both of them a tall glass.  “Food and drink, I’m not going to complain,” he said, also snagging a large quantity of cheese cubes.

After filling up a plate each, Stiles and Derek avoided the dance floor, instead plopping down and resting at a nearby table.  

While they ate, Stiles spotted their friends all around the decorated gym.  Jackson and Lydia were in the dead center of the gym, dancing close to one and other in a furious pace.  Isaac and Erica were pulling at Boyd, dragging him onto the dance floor (with little success).  Even the typically shy Scott found himself with Allison off in a corner, doing an embarrassing dance that forced Allison to spit out her punch in shock and laughter.

From his corner off to the side, Stiles felt a twitch in his chest.  An all too familiar sensation he’d gotten rid of months earlier.  A longing to be part of the crowd, to be with friends, and being surrounded in laughter.

“Hey Der?” Stiles asked, turning to his boyfriend.

“Yeah?” Derek replied, with his mouth full of cheese.

Stiles smirked.  “How about you and I...  Go make idiots of ourselves?” he asked, nodding off to the rest of the dancing crowd that gathered quickly after the game.

Derek rose an eyebrow.  “Are you...” he asked, with a notable pause.

Standing up, Stiles beamed, grabbing Derek’s arm.  “Come on, let’s dance!” he said, in a strong, confident tone.

Taken aback, Derek choked on his cracker snacks as he was pulled up to his feet.

A man on a mission, Stiles drug Derek out to the middle of the floor, where a techno beat had turned the dance into more of a rave.  While there was less grinding (parental chaperones, pfft), the frenzied dancing hadn't changed, as everyone moved to the beat of the song, with hands raised high and all cares discarded to the wind.

At the middle, not quite sure what to do, Stiles just glanced over and tried his best to copy what Jackson and Isaac were doing with their dates.  While a good idea in theory, Stiles (in actuality) looked more like a beginner belly dancer on their first day of class.  Just as bad, Derek tried to follow Stiles' lead, and moved like a stoic robot who hadn't been oiled in years.

"I feel like an idiot," Stiles admitted, snorting as he brought his arms down and tried to bob up and down with the beat instead.

Derek attempted Stiles' calmed down version, laughing as he nodded in agreement.  "Me too.  I think Boyd and Erica are literally rolling on the floor laughing, and I think we killed Isaac," he said, nodding off to the side.  Sure enough, Erica's cackle reached the heavens, while Boyd tried to shake Isaac out of a laughter coma.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  "Whatever.  They're jealous of "the moves"," he spat, shaking his head.  

While Derek began to counter with his own witty remark about "the movies", the music overhead shifted to a slower melody.  A corny love song that everyone groaned at hearing, but still linked together for a swaying slow dance.

Taking the lead, Derek put his hands on Stiles' shoulder and waist, as Stiles soon did the same.

Stiles leaned against Derek's chest, smiling brightly.  The slower tempo allowed them to sway back and forth on the dance floor, while the lighting overhead shined brightly over them as it swept across the room.

"Hey Stiles?  You know, we're pretty good for each other," Derek admitted.

Stiles peeked open an eye, staring at Derek curiously.

Smirking, Derek grabbed onto Stiles' hip tighter.  "You have a way of getting me off my ass and doing things I was scared of doing before.  Dating, making out, dancing in public with my boyfriend and making an ass of myself..." he explained, bonking his head against Stiles.

Opening both eyes, Stiles met into Derek's gaze.  He smirked right back.  "Same," he answered quietly.  They slowly danced off into a corner, away from the crowd and the chaperons coughing at pairs pinned too closely to one and other.  "You helped me get out of my shell, and though I'd NEVER admit my parents are right...  I did need to socialize more, and make new friends.  You helped me be part of the team, and now I've got 40 people that are like a family to me," he answered.

"I didn't do much," Derek said, shaking his head.  "Day one of training, half the team thought you wouldn't last a week.  They thought you'd lost a bet!" he laughed heartily.

Stiles' heart flipped over, and he felt a cold sweat run down his neck.

"After the first week, that same half gave you props for sticking through hell week.  They loved you, especially your mouth, and your smartass remarks," Derek said, chuckling as he shook his head.

Stiles shook off the mention of "the bet", and instead focused on the conversation at hand.  "Yeah, well...  If you hadn't motivated me, I wouldn't have kept going.  I probably would have quit," he admitted.

"Well...  I'm glad, for whatever reason, that we're here today, together.  I haven't been this happy in a long time, Stiles," Derek said, sneaking a kiss on Stiles lips when none of the chaperons were looking too hard.

As they separated from their kiss, Stiles felt a spark between them.  An "aha" moment, of sorts.  The kind of moment that told Stiles, for better or worse, this was the man he'd spend the rest of his life with.  The guy he'd probably marry, and adopt kids with.  

Sure, it was all just teenage hormones and the high of the moment running through his veins, but it didn't detract at all from the emotion that surged within.

Stiles squeezed Derek's hand tightly.  

"I'm happy too, Derek.  I'm happier than I've ever been," Stiles admitted brightly.

 

+++++

 

The rest of the season would fly by in a flurry of victories.  While the playoffs were a foregone conclusion by the halfway point of the season, the Silver Wolves had always hoped for a school "first" record, of an unbeatable football season.

A record that they would achieve on the last game of the season, in the first week of November.

As the clock ran down for the last few minutes of play, Stiles and the rest of the reserve players were already hugging, slapping, and cheering.  The final bout against the Wendover Devil Dogs ended with a 21-12 victory.

Derek took a knee for the last play of the game, as the game clock blared into the sky, and ended the regular football season.

Overcome with the high of the moment, Stiles, Liam, and Boyd practically choked each other in tight hugs, yelling at the top of their lungs in tune with the rest of Beacon Hills.  

In a blur, Stiles barely remembered "good gaming" the other team, or even the rush of the Beacon Hills Fans engulfing the team on the field, creating a circle that encompassed most of the entire town.

A piercing whistle cut through the outrageous roar, as friends, fans, and family of the players alike all turned to the middle of the huddle.  Standing there was Finstock, waving his hands in the air to silence the overbearing crowd.

Slowly, the noise died down, and Stiles turned to face his coach.

Finstock clutched as his clipboard, turning around and spanning his view around to his players, their parents, and the many fans that came around.

"I...  I'm just so happy.  I...  I want to thank all the little people," Finstock said, choking up and wiping away an imaginary tear.

A low chuckle spread throughout the crowd.

Finstock shook his head, with a beaming smile.  "Kidding aside...  I'd just like to say I'm proud of all of you.  Not for winning this game, or for a flawless season, or the fact that you're all going to the playoffs!  I'm proud of all of you for giving it your all, each and every game, during every practice, and since the start of camp," he said, making contact with a wide variety of the team members.  "That's why you're standing here, 10-0, and the best team in the conference.  Not because of talent, or having better facilities, or because you sold your soul to the devil.  No, you're here today because you worked for it, and the results of that work?  Well, I'd say your victory tonight, and a first in the school history books can attest to that!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

The circle of players, family, and fans clapped right along.  Yet another roar of celebration ripped from the players, Stiles included.  There was something about all of this that pumped into Stiles' chest.  Testosterone or adrenaline, he wasn't quite sure, but any timidness he may have once had was slowly being bled out of him.

Finstock blew his whistle again, silencing the crowd once again.  He took a deep breath, and folded his arms.  

"Celebrate tonight.  Go home, have a nice rest, and enjoy your well-won victory.  Just don't party TOO hard, because this team's work isn't over yet.  Come Monday, we're hitting the weights and training harder than ever before.  We've got the playoffs, the State, and All-Star conference to look forward to.  If you think I'm going to let ANY of you slack off now, just because you're 10-0 record breakers?  HA!  You have another thing coming.  By the end of this semester, if you don't want to gut me like a fish, I haven't been doing my job right," Finstock said, with a coy smile.

Another low laugh came from the crowd, while teammates exchanged cautious, worried glares.  Stiles gulped at the thought of him training even HARDER.  

Yet, Finstock took off his baseball cap, and just shook his head.  "That's Monday though.  For now?  Go home and have the time of your lives, you've all deserved it!  I'm also taking ALL of you players for dinner next Friday night, MY TREAT!  So GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, YOU RECORD BREAKERS!" he shrieked, throwing the crowd into one final round of roaring applause and cheer.

The crowd would slowly disperse over the span of a few minutes, as Stiles stripped out of his pads, and embraced, fist-bumped, and otherwise congratulated (and was congratulated to) every one of his teammates.

"Stiles!" John exclaimed.

Spinning around after hugging Allison's neck, he met his father and mother's gaze.  He picked up his pads and moved over to them, waving goodbye to the Argents.

Stiles embraced his father, while John patted Stiles on the back, and laughed loudly.

"Proud of you, son.  You worked so hard this year, got so many new friends, and...  I think you screamed louder than anyone in that huddle.  You looked so happy, Stiles," John said, with a broad smile on his face.  

Claudia joined their side and added to family hug.  "Me too, Stiles!  So proud of you and all you've done!  You did great tonight, just like you have all season!" she said, hugging Stiles' neck as tightly as she could muster.

"Thanks mom, thanks dad," Stiles answered.  He hugged tightly back.

Released from their tight hug, Stiles felt a chill run down his spine.  Just in his compression shirt and combined with a lack of continued physical activity that night made him very aware of the winter night.

"Oh sweetheart, let's get out of here!  We'll run through a fast food joint on the way home so you can get some food in you, and when I get home, we'll make some hot coffee!" Claudia said, grabbing a blanket among her things and wrapping it around Stiles' shoulders.

Nodding, Stiles walked with his parents out of the field, and into the parking lot attached to the field.  John and Claudia hugged, congratulated, and cheered right along the rest of the parents of the team, with all of their new-found friends as well.  Stiles couldn't help but smile, glad to see his overworked parents be more sociable themselves, and smile a lot more these days.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled.

The Stilinski family stopped, turning around to watch Derek jogging over towards them.  Like Stiles, with just his compression shirt, Derek shivered in the cold as his breath produced a fog of warm air.

"Oh for heaven's sake..." Claudia said, rolling her eyes and throwing a blanket over Derek's shoulders as well.  "You'd think they could make that fabric thicker, or warmer...  Or that either of you could think to at least put a jacket in your duffel bags," she said, patting Derek on the arm.  "Congratulations tonight, sweetie.  You did amazing!" Claudia exclaimed.

Derek smiled.  "Thank you Mrs. Sti-...  I mean...  Thank you, Claudia," he answered, catching himself mid-sentence.  He'd already earned the wrath of daring to call Claudia "Mrs." anything.  Or referring to John as "Sheriff".  

Stiles cleared his throat, politely nudging his father.  

Catching the hint, John laughed.

"Alright, alright, we get it...  Meddling parents.  We'll be in the car, keep it PG13, sons," John said to Derek, with a playful smirk as he and Claudia made themselves scarce.

Turning back to Derek, Stiles got pulled into a fierce hug from his boyfriend.  They shared an (PG13) intimate kiss, earning a few whistles from passing teammates.

"Shaddup," Stiles said, as they broke their kiss.  He pushed at one of their linemen, who made kissy face as the couple.

Derek laughed it off.  He couldn't contain his smile any longer.  "Good game Stiles...  Good game," he said, in a hurried breath.  His bunny teeth were showing, and his smile long and broad.  In the month or so they'd been dating, Stiles had come to learn that Derek was overjoyed when the teeth came out.

"Mmm...  What's the deal?  You look excited!" Stiles said, as he and Derek huddled together for warmth.

Clearing his throat, Derek couldn't hide the thumping of his heart from Stiles, who could feel it through their close contact.

"Remember that recruiter?  The one after the homecoming game?" he asked.

Stiles nodded.  "Yeah, the one from Signal?" he asked.

"That's the one," Derek said, as he bounced on his feet.  "I met up with him again tonight!  He was watching a Senior on the other team, and congratulated me on the win!  Plus, he told me that he and the athletic directors for Signal will be at our playoff tournament and personally watch the state games!  Even better, the All-Star tournament is HELD at Signal, and it's RAN by their athletic program!" he said, eagerly, unable to contain the joy.

"Wow!" Stiles said, beaming from ear to ear, just as excited for Derek's sake.  "So you'll get a chance to not only let this recruiter see you play, but also the director and coaches!  Dude, that's a big deal!  Especially since they're already interested in you to begin with!" he exclaimed.

"I know!  Stiles, I think it might really happen!" Derek said, panting happily out of breath.  "I might actually get into college and not be in debt for the rest of my life!" he exploded.

To which, Stiles smirked.  "Dude, we will make SURE you get into college.  You are going to murder the SATs next year, and your grades are getting better, and you've still got two and a half more years of high school!  A lot can change in that time, you know?" he said, confidently.

Derek nodded, taking in a deep breath as he and Stiles glanced up in the cold winter sky, as the stars twinkled above them.  Stiles and Derek squeezed each other's hand tightly.

"I'm hoping not everything changes," Derek whispered, as he pecked another kiss onto Stiles' cheek.

Stiles flushed.

"Me either," Stiles whispered back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates! Epilouge coming soon, which will wrap up this story! :)


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